


The Warmest Places

by UltraRed



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amell is not the Warden, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Healing, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Mages and Templars, Multi, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Social Anxiety, it's not all sad times I swear, or an attempt at it, there are other pairings too but I'd hate to clutter their tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:04:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4978261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltraRed/pseuds/UltraRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, between dealing with lyrium withdrawal and his own hypocrisy, Cullen felt like he was actively trying to sabotage his one last chance at redemption. The day Alana Amell was literally dragged back into his life was one of such days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the longest fic I've written so far, and one of the most self-indulgent ones at that. About half of it is already written, but I am very much doubtful updates will be regular once I reach the parts I have yet to get out of my head.
> 
> This is basically a partial AU of DA:I (and partially DA:O), placing my non-Warden Alana Amell in the Inquisitor's Inner Circle. It's heavily laden with headcanons, rewrites of things I didn't enjoy about the games (just as a warning for those who don't like these sorts of things, Alana isn't the only change here. Most of my changes have to do with the handling of Cullen (who kind of got off too easy imho) and the lore changes Bioware pulled out of nowhere, however, so it's not all bad), rolling with ideas that were abandoned in the game (mostly on demonic possessions like the one found in the Darkspawn DLC in DA:O) and prose trying to be somewhat old time-y. It was at first a fill for a kink meme prompt dealing with Cullen's lyrium addiction/ withdrawal symptoms (which I have long since lost the link to, we're talking about pre-Inquisition times here, I believe), but it kind of... Grew on it's own, until I could no longer call it a fill to that. 
> 
> All the info about the World State that you would probably like to know will be at the end, as not to clutter this as much as I've done already. Do note that it's not mandatory reading by any means, as these things will be explained eventually, but should you want to kind of understand the world I'm building here, you can kind of peek into it in advance. There won't be that many twists in this story anyway.
> 
> I hope you have as much a blast reading this as I had writing it! If you notice any glaring mistakes relating to the lore or otherwise, I would be glad if you informed me. English is not my native tongue, so those are all to be expected.

_“O Maker, hear my cry:_

_Guide me through the blackest nights_  
_Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked_  
_Make me to rest in the warmest places.”_

 

Cullen awoke with a start, gasping for air.

His eyes darted around, as he tried to locate where he was. It was a simple room, bathed in the early rays of sunlight, but he was not... He didn't know. He just wasn't... Safe. There was something clinging to him, and he pulled himself away from whatever it was, almost violently enough to throw himself off the... Bed? His bed. His home in Honnleath. Outside the window a flock of birds gave flight, probably being chased off from the statue in the square by people looking to keep their little village clean.

“Mmm..?  _Cullen_?” came a soft whimper, and a woman sleepily rose from under the covers. He eyed her warily, but she reached for his arm, and rubbed it in a soothing, familiar manner. Having her tan, warm hand against his rapidly cooling skin was a surprisingly welcome feeling, and moments later he noticed the bands of gold adorning both of their decidedly left ring fingers.

 Maker, he had to be going insane. He was married? Since when? No, of course he was, but he'd thought... He didn't know what he'd thought before.

 “Bad dream?” she asked, voice rough from sleep. His _wife_. Blue, almost lyrium colored eyes met his. Alana. He remembered their wedding at the Honnleath Chantry, the Chantry he served at, and how his sister Mia had cried openly for the first time in his life there, remembered the shy kisses he'd shared with this baker's daughter beneath the statue when they were just thirteen, right before he'd gone to his templar training, promising he'd return to her, the memories all flooding back, flooring him.

  _How could he have forgotten?_

 “I...” he started but could not finish. The hand on his arm slid upward, and cupped his face. Her nails were longer than he'd imagined them to be, and immediately as the thought crossed his mind he felt silly. Of course her nails were long. She didn't bake anymore.

“Are you all right? Do you want to talk about it?” she asked him, but he hesitated on answering.

 Maybe it was because he had just woken up, and his mind was terribly confused, but... She didn't seem sincere. Had they fought last night? No, it was... They were perfect. They didn't fight. This was something else. This was all him.

 “... I can't remember.” Cullen finally said, unsure if he was referring to the dream or himself or  _her_ , rubbing the back of his neck.

 “Good.” Alana answered, and pecked him quickly on his lips. Just a light press of skin against skin, nothing more, just to show that she cared. She got up just as fast and stretched her whole body, yawning, her nightclothes hitching up, revealing to him the skin of her back, skin he was very much familiar with by now. The light almost made it seem like she was glowing, divine in the sunlight. Suddenly the need to run his hand along the skin there was almost maddening, but he held himself back. Something told him it wouldn't have been appropriate.

It was supposed to be right. This. Them. Still, the feeling of... Dread remained. Really, his dream must've been akin to torture to make him feel this way, he thought, jokingly _._

“Good because it doesn't do you well to dwell on the bad things. Like you usually do.” she continued, and turned to gaze out the window, sloppily braiding her long hair, and Cullen followed her gaze.

It wasn't just early in the morning anymore. He needed to get up and get dressed in his armor before the morning Chant. He needed to... No.

He needed to remember the dream.

Just as he thought that Alana spun around, and just about lunged at him. She almost knocked the air out of his lungs, but he laughed, they both did, because why did she do that? She was never this playful, usually.

“Aren't you going to get up?” she said into his neck, lips tickling the skin there with every word, her hands finding their way around his waist, in a feeble attempt at trapping him on the bed. She nipped at his neck, and the act made him feel flustered and out of breath, and oh, how he wished he could stay, but he knew he couldn't remain for much longer. He had his duties to attend to.

“I can't, not when you're clinging to me like that!” he replied, laughter still in his voice, and slid his hand onto her shoulders, and gently pushed her away, so that he could see her face, maybe steal a kiss he so  _desired._ Maker, he felt like he'd never kissed her before, even if they had just kissed!

“We could remain in the bed for a bit longer. You haven't been a very attentive husband as of late. Is it your duty or me, Ser Templar? Don't you love me more than your Chantry? Your Maker.”

The birds stopped singing. The sudden lack of noise was almost deafening, even if before the sound was gone he had not even noticed there  _was_  any singing.

“I...” Yes. No. How was he supposed to tell her no? How could she ask such a question? He... He did hold her dear. But love her? In a way, yes. He did. He just didn't love her right now. It felt shameful to admit it, and it was hard to explain why, but he was certain about his feelings.

The dream. He had to remember the dream.

Alana was having none of it though. She changed positions, straddled his lap and buried her fingers into his hair, nails scraping against his skull, lips against his in a motion that made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

This. This was nothing like her. Amell would never –

Amell. Alana  _Amell_ , not Rutherford. She didn't bake or kiss boys and promise to stay with them forever. She didn't love him. Never had, and never would.

The illusion had shattered.

“Cullen.” the  _demon_  whispered into his ear, still using her voice, her face, the wretched thing.” Don't ignore me, Cullen.”

There was a sickly purple hue to everything from the barrier he was trapped in, and he could not move. Instead of the smell of his hometown something metallic was in the air, like rust, along with something else altogether disgusting. The sudden change in atmosphere made his eyes water, and he nearly hurled, but caught himself at the last second. There wouldn't've been anything to vomit out anyway. His – his  _comrades_  lay dead all around him, but he tried to not look at them too closely. He didn't want to see who they were, didn't want to think about it. He was alone, now, but he prayed that maybe someone had escaped in the confusion, when the abominations had attacked, maybe –

Maybes didn't help, now. He should just cast away all false hopes.

“...Away from me demon.” he replied, simply, and just like that, it was gone. It still whispered to him though, laughed at him, mocking him as it had done many times before.

“ _You desire only her flesh._ ”

He was alone again, but he knew it would come back. It always did, even with Uldred not commanding it directly anymore. He was a game to it, prey to be hunted. He'd begged for death before, but it had not granted it to him, only shown him terrors of what if would  _feel_ like to die. After that it was all sweetness, his mother's gentle caress, lover's kisses, friends arms around him. He was surprised that alone had not broken him.

He laughed at the ceiling, sounding like a madman even to himself. How many visions had he already seen? How many temptations had he spit in the face of? This one had been the worst so far, digging somewhere deeper than just simple lust, deeper than he had realized a demon could ever go, go and corrupt. It was by his sheer stubbornness that he had once again been able to avoid the traps laid out, to twist him into something he was not. Whether it be a willing slave, or just a puppet for its own amusement, he did not know. Either one seemed plausible.

He didn't know how long he had been trapped here. It was probably far too long for him to have any hope of salvation anymore. Perhaps there was no escape. He would be in this cage, forsaken by the Maker, until his will eventually crumbled, or the abominations and mages came to finish him off. When was the last time he had eaten or drunk anything? Rested without the demon's nightmares? 

… Had lyrium?

Suddenly thirstier than before, he licked his lips, swallowing dryly. His head felt empty. Every time he blinked, opening his eyes became harder and harder. They were so dry it felt like his eyelids were turning inside out whenever he opened them. He was just so tired...

He let his eyes rest upon the newest corpse in front of him, its face partially mangled, but his mouth in an almost peaceful smile. How he wished he could also –

 _No_.

Whoever it was, he'd not been happy to die. The peace he'd felt at the moment his death had not been true. No one in this forsaken tower had wanted to die, nor would they have had to die, had it not been for Uldred and his mages. Hatred burned inside of him, like the flames that had burned Andraste until there were only ashes left. He would stand vigilant, he would not go to the Void like the rest of them, not yet. First he would see to it himself that no blood mage would ever walk free again. He swore so to his comrades cold, dead corpses. He gave the smiling corpse one last glance, and brought his hands to a prayer, kneeling once more.

“Blessed...” His voice broke, but he could not stop now.

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter...” he began again, the Chant coming from his mouth like something to cleanse him ( _like bile_ ), as it had so many times before.

 _He_ would not falter.

He heard the sound of hurried footsteps, and he was ready for his next trial.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry I am such a rotten writer that I can't find ways to include this information in the fic's beginning in a normal, organic manner. I just feel like this is all is something that some of you would like to know in advance.
> 
> The Warden is a lady dwarf named Dyl Brosca, who romanced Zevran, put (a very bitter) Alistair and Anora on the throne, thus sparing Loghain, and did the most paragon things you could imagine with everything. She went through with Morrigan's ritual because she was scared of dying, but never came to regret it, seeing Morrigan as her second sister by the end of things. Her dislike for politics is great, and she was rarely seen in Orzammar or in the Fereldan court before her eventual disappearance, with Zevran in tow.
> 
> During the Broken Circle Alana aided the Warden along with Wynne. She was also the one to enter the Fade for the Warden to save Connor, and she took part in the Battle of Denerim. 
> 
> Aiden Hawke, a snarky dual wielding rogue and friend of everyone (except those who dislike inappropriate humor), was on the side of templars at first, but after Bethany got taken to the Circle he started changing his opinions on a lot of things, including on the rights of mages. Even though he and Anders got off to a rocky start, they eventually fell in love. In the end he could not completely stand behind Anders' actions, but he chose to defend the mages anyway, mostly because he thought it was the right thing to do. 
> 
> (You might also want to check out the kind of companion piece I wrote for this, detailing a smaller Alana's journey to the Tower, called  [Good Templar, Bad Templar](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4881994).)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for the kudos and the comments! Those always make my day. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, any comments are welcome.

Cullen truly woke up, this time to the reality of early morning in Skyhold. His head felt like there was someone pounding at it with a hammer, and even as cold, fresh air entered his quarters through the hole in his ceiling, he was clammy with sweat, and felt hot all over. He bolted up and left his bed, feeling dirty, and not just because of his disgusting skin. He was thirsty, his mouth dry, just like in his dream. It wasn't water he craved though. Never water. He stared at his shaking hands, and felt like he was going insane.

Like he was going to die.

He shook his head. The feeling would pass. He wasn't dying. He was _not_.

The worst part wasn't even the feeling of nausea. This hadn't even been the worst the gore could get, hadn't been one of the nightmares that made him retch in disgust as soon as he woke up, remember how they'd torn the flesh of his friends or made them into thralls to do their own bidding, all the gore, the depravity, the anger. In fact, sometimes he much preferred those dreams to ones like this one. This was a nightmare that came from _himself_. To be reminded of what had made him the way he had been, what had resulted in his hubris was agony. It just proved to him how despicable he had been, still was. In the end, the demon's words had held some truth to them. He was shallow, he was callous, and he was incapable of love or being loved. 

 _The dreams had been much kinder when I still took lyrium,_ he heard some desperate part of himself whisper in his mind, but he did his best to ignore it. 

He could just be thankful it hadn't been about Kirkwall. At first, the quiet outrage in the Gallows that had lasted for years turning not so quiet, and then... He could still see the explosion sometimes, when he closed his eyes. He knew that the one they'd had in the Conclave was much, much worse, but still, this was the one that haunted him. He could nearly smell the aftermath of it all, the death in the streets, hundreds of corpses to clean, to burn in a giant pyre they had to make so that disease would not spread. There had been no family to take care of all the templars and the mages who had perished either, no sisters to help them with the funeral rites.

And, worst of all, as if the memories weren't enough, there were mages from Kirkwall here, good people looking to do good deeds, no doubt. And these people, they glared at him as they passed him by, knew how unworthy he was, knew how easily they could break him if they wanted to. Some were probably just biding their time, until they could find the most opportune moment for it. And he didn't mean just the ones who had been part of the Mage Underground (who had come when the rebels joined them, and only the alliance to the Inquisition made them stay civil around him, he was sure of this). He meant all of them. What had he been to them? Meredith's puppet, a whelp out of his league, or her second in command, just as cruel and insane as she was, a zealot of the worst kind? He didn't know himself, anymore, and he did not dare to ask, even if he sometimes wanted to, out of some perverse need to know he wasn't as bad as he thought he was. He could not even meet their eyes, when they passed him. He just couldn't. Not knowing what he'd done to these people. Ten years of ignorance. _Ten years_...

He had to stop lamenting over these things. It made everything harder to be reminded of what he had let happen. Had been a part of. He was trying to be a better man now, trying to make amends and the world whole again by putting his trust into the Inquisition, and even if it would probably never be enough, at least he was trying. If it wasn't right by the end of it all, and the Maker cast him from His side, then so be it. He was willing to work for this cause until the day he died. He, like many other templars, could not be absolved of their sins over night, after all.

"The one who repents, who has faith, unshaken by the darkness of the world... He shall know true peace." Cullen whispered, trying to find the strength he was lacking in the Chant. Besides, overthinking this would only come to haunt him later in the day. This was routine to him by now, and he had to stay focused, even during bad days, like this one was turning out to be.

Without even washing his face he pulled on some clothes and boots, but left his armor behind, mostly due to all the time it would take him to put it on. He desperately needed to destroy something, to let out steam, so he could be rid of this feeling quicker and get on with his life and duties. Cullen climbed the ladder down to his office, glancing at the documents he needed to address on the table on his way down. Now was not the time though, as the mere thought of the words in them made his vision go hazy.

No one was really up yet except for the night watch. Just servants here and there, and the occasional fool like himself who could not find sleep anymore. He looked up to the rookery, where the earliest messenger birds were flying in an out, and wondered if Leliana was up right now. Josephine was undoubtedly still in bed, as some of the dignitaries from Ferelden and Orlais visiting them had left only last night, a lot less disappointed and cranky as they had been at first, he hoped. It was their own fault for coming in when Skyhold was still in this state of disrepair. They could only blame themselves if they had to eat in the tavern and mingle with the "common folk". If it had been up to him, they would've had to sleep outside in the encampment (so that they would've left earlier), but as it was Josephine's duty, she'd sacrificed her own room for the ones they couldn't accommodate somewhere comfortable in the hold. He had to admit, though, even if the lords and ladies visiting did not think so, the repairs were coming along nicely. The walkway from the hold to the battlements was nearly complete, and the main hall was not just rubble now. Josephine had been right to hire dwarven stonemasons for the job. 

Greeting any soldier on duty he saw with a nod, Cullen jogged to training grounds, the still cool air biting into his ears and his face, giving them what he hoped to be a healthy looking red hue. A training sword and shield would have to suffice (and hopefully not break this time), and the first blow with his shield nearly toppled the dummy. He worked himself like this, and tried his best not to imagine the dummy as anyone. He had quickly learned that the worst way to vent out these feelings for him was to imagine the people or things responsible for his pain. He had no reason to be vengeful, with all of those who had wronged him dead (but what of all of those _he_ had wronged, where ever they were, dead or worse or _here_?). He had to empty his mind. Not think of anything and just practice until near exhaustion.

And it was what he did, until he slipped, and once again the dream was on his mind, and instead of a straw filled dummy the slash was aimed at _a woman with dark skin and hair and eyes like lyrium, staring at him why Cullen why please don't no Maker it's me not some demon_ _ **me**_ _!_

He dropped the weapons like they had just burnt him, and felt tears sting his eyes, the visions of past torment simply too real.

He covered his face, focusing on his breathing.

In.

He had never harmed her.

Out.

It was not real.

In.

Maker damn it all.

Out.

_Damn it all to the Void._

 

 

It took Cullen hours to feel normal again, and after a hearty breakfast, and once he was all proper and clad in his armor, he got to work again. The mountains of paperwork on his desk did not seem like an impossible task, finally.

One somewhat alarming report stated that a squad of Inquisition soldiers that had gone missing, once again, this time near the Orlesian and Fereldan border. At first Cullen had thought they were simply slacking off with reporting back, but surely enough, as the days went by it had become apparent that they were gone. Thankfully not without a trace, however. A few scouts of his had already been deployed to their last known location, but still, he worried. The whole situation reminded him of the time the Avarr had taken some their soldiers. That time the rescue had been successful thanks to the Inquisitor, but what if this time it was the Venatori who had done the capturing? Or the Red Templars? Neither would be kind to any prisoners, especially Inquisition ones, of that he was certain, and the Red Templar activity was far more focused on Orlais in any case, which gave him serious concerns that it was one of the relevant parties.

That was the least of his worries now, though.

He looked down at his hands. They were shaking again. Just a few moments ago he had been _fine_ , so why this again?

This was serious. He was getting worse as the weeks went by, not better like he'd hoped, and soon, he feared, he'd be far too gone to do his job properly. The nightmares he could deal with, those he had had for years now, but if he was unable to hold a even a pen (not to mention a sword) or simply focus on his duties...

He'd need to talk to Cassandra about this soon if it got any worse, he was certain about it. The Inquisitor too. He had looked into potential candidates for his post as the Commander, and there were few more suitable than Cassandra, although the Lady Seeker would not take kindly to any of his suggestions, he was sure.

The tremors stopped, and he got to work again.

The Inquisitor's clan needed assistance against bandits or raiders. Whatever they were, it was a pressing matter. Lavellan had been distressed about it, and had entrusted him with the defense of his people, so he had to do his best to make this operation as successful as possible. He'd have to deploy soldiers to help deal with the threat, and...

A knock on the door interrupted his thought progress.

“Commander, may I come in? Sister Leliana has her reports ready for you.”

He sighed. Great, even more reports to add to the ever growing pile. “Of course, come in.”

One of Leliana's messengers walked in, and _Amell did too, and stood in front of his desk. Are we alone? Good. This is my favorite book, about the Fade, very beautiful but informative as well. Yes it's written by a Tevinter somniari of the old. That does not mean it's evil by any means, so don't frown like that. You can borrow it up to the templars quarters, I'm sure the archivist won't mind. She likes it when the templars read. She calls you all brutes, in secret. Can you imagine? I think she's far more of a brute than you, for the matter, once she saw someone doodle in a book and she..._

“... Commander?”

Just like that, Amell was gone, leaving Cullen to deal with a very puzzled looking scout. 

“Yes!” he snapped, way too loudly and angrily for his own liking, causing the messenger to flinch.

“Here are the reports, ser. Excuse me, ser.” she said, placing them on the table and retreating swiftly before he could even apologize, leaving him alone and confused.

Maker preserve him. This _again_? What had it been? A ghost from his past? Something he'd made up as he was slowly descending into lyrium induced madness? He needed to talk to Cassandra, right now.

...Except Cassandra was out in the Storm Coast with the Inquisitor.

This? This was not good. Not good at all. 

 

 

Training with the soldiers helped, he realized, as did going over important matters with Josephine and Leliana.

Well, his fellow advisors were both far too busy for him, at the moment, and they only met when someone called them all together, to go over some of their more confidential plans in detail. Even though they did send him unofficial notes along with reports and such, it wasn't as good as talking face to face. He hadn't been especially social, lately. He had made himself far too busy. With Lavellan gone, no one really came to visit him, except for the ever changing messenger.The only two other people who actively sought him out, Dorian and Cassandra (Dorian for chess (Cullen was not one to boast, but he'd won nearly every time), and Cassandra to check up on him), were both out with him too. At least while training he met Iron Bull and Blackwall, so there was that, at least. Maybe it had been the loneliness that had gotten to him, and made him this way, made him imagine _things_ that weren't there. Maybe it had happened because he had been tired that day, or maybe it was a combination of both. The important part was that it had not happened again. Once had been more than enough for him. 

He did not know what it meant, to see her like that. He... It couldn't be that he held any feelings for her. Not anymore. He hadn't thought of her in any sort of romantic way in the longest time, not after what happened at Kinloch Hold. Maybe it had been the dream about her that had somehow triggered this reaction in him. He would've found this something worth discussing with someone who knew about these sorts of things (who that was, he did not know), if not for the fact that it was a clear sign of him going utterly _mad_.

This only added to his dilemma. As the Commander of the Inquisition, who had a certain reputation to uphold, he most certainly could not be sharing the fact that he was seeing apparitions of a woman, worse, mage he had been infatuated with ten whole years ago with _anyone_. Neither of his fellow advisors, or even the Inquisitor. Besides, what would they tell him? Could they offer him the guidance he needed, as he doubted they would take in the severity of his situation in the first case. And what could they do, send him to a healer, who could only shrug at him helplessly, like all of them had done before? Help him in the selection of his successor? Send him gift baskets?

... Ask him to take lyrium again?

Bah. He was thinking foolish thoughts again. Truthfully, he did not know whom to turn to with this issue. Maybe he was just ashamed, but when he wondered if it would help to share this faction of his condition even with templars like himself, who were, mind you, dealing with similar issues as he was, he balked at the very thought of it. 

Well, there was the resident (hopefully) friendly spirit, Cole, who knew about his issues before Cullen had even tried to hide them from him. The spirit did not intrude upon him in person, however, opting to instead send him little notes. He was thankful for that at least. Confrontation about his issue was not what he desired, with anyone except the one that could relieve him of his duties.

Cole did not tell him he wasn't insane, nor did he berate him for the visions either. His notes were usually addressed to his feelings on Uldred and the Tower, and he was discreet enough not to mention anything about his condition, thank the Maker for small miracles. He knew Leliana spied even inside the Inquisition, including supposed friends, so a note from Cole saying something along the lines of "You see her in the waking world because you're broken" was just another thing that could devastate him. Sometimes it actually did help him, knowing that someone out there knew about his... Hallucinations, and didn't think less of him because of them. Even when the someone was, well, whatever Cole was. Spirit imitating human?

And to think that in the past he would not have hesitated to strike Cole down, just like the Harrowings he'd watched over. Had he met Cole just some four years earlier, he would've rather slit his own throat than listened to any advice from something from the Fade. It was yet another thought that kept him up at night.

 

 

The Inquisitor came back a week after Cullen's first and hopefully last episode with what he'd come to call the “lyrium ghost”. Some of the repairs to Skyhold were complete by then (like the walkway from the battlements and his quarters to the actual hold, which made his trips to the War Table meetings much faster), and he found amusement in thinking that undoubtedly Lavellan and his companions had the most amazing slack jawed expressions on their faces as they arrived. The place did clean up nicely.

He had been unable to find a moment to talk to Cassandra immediately though, as news from his scouts came back too. They had been unable to find the soldiers who had gone missing, and were coming back. He'd have to take this to Leliana, even when he really had hoped that he and his forces would be able to handle this situation on their own.

Or that was what he had thought.

“Commander!” a soldier burst into his office, clearly panicked. Cullen got up from his chair, not knowing if he was going to have to go for his weapon or not. Was it another attack on the Inquisition? So soon?

“The... The missing soldiers.” she said, gasping for air. It was clear that she had ran all the way here.

“Take a deep breath and explain to me what's going on.” he told her, and she nodded at him, thankful. She took a moment to calm down, and continued.

“The soldiers were found dead Commander. Some villagers claim a demon killed them, in... Some village on the border. I don't know which village, ser, I'm sorry. They came here with the bodies and... And the demon ser!”

Cullen froze.

“So you're saying that they claim to have captured a demon? _And_ brought it here?!” he asked, uncertain what he was hearing. This seemed like madness to him, like a witch hunt. One did not capture a demon, just like that, especially without any sort of training.

“I-it's what they claim. It looks like a woman, and they want the Inquisitor to judge it, ser! They burst in without waiting for our answer or approval. The Judgement is in session now!”

Then that was where Cullen was headed too.

“Dismissed!” he told the soldier, and hurried to the hall (taking note of the carriage with bodies bundled up, those had been good men and women who probably had people waiting for them to come home, _damn it all,_ he had sent them to their deaths), only to find it in chaos, as onlookers poured in, to catch a sight of the supposed abomination. He himself could not get any further, at least not without muscling his way through the crowd. Josephine was with the Inquisitor, as was usual when he laid down his judgement, but she looked confused and at a loss of what to do, eyes darting from the Inquisitor to the people in the middle of the hall.

There were five men there, all shouting at the same time, and in their midst, judging by the frame, was a woman in bondage. He had expected her to be an apostate, but it was impossible to tell whether or not she was one without a staff. Her robes, if they even were those, were too ascetic to be a telltale sign of anything. She could've been anyone, for all he knew.

“Messeres, please. What exactly are your charges here?” Josephine asked, calm and polite as usual, and after the men talked amongst themselves for a while, one of them stepped forward.

“This she-demon is the one who killed your soldiers, ser Herald! We witnessed it, the whole village!” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at the woman on her knees, bound and gagged, shoulders rising and falling in what must've been anger. Cullen was sure she was glaring at everyone and everything, like a vicious madwoman. If so, she was probably not helping her case at all. “She's a demon!”

But the prisoner had had enough. She wildly shook her head, making the gag finally fall, and with a dramatic and almost jaded sigh she abruptly stood up, scaring the villager next to her into jumping as far away from her as possible. She was nearly as tall as all the men, no, taller than a few of them.

“Would you blighted imbeciles _finally_ let me speak?!” she shouted, and the chatter in the hall quieted into a murmur.

Cullen's breath hitched.

He had not recognized her at first, not from the back, not with so many people blocking his view, but her voice was enough of a reminder in itself. The woman brought before the Inquisitor, bitter, willful, and very much not someone whom you'd expect to be a soldier killing abomination, was none other than Alana Amell.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand welcome back! Just so you know what took me so long, my laptop kicked the bucket and I only had like, a really early version of this in my email, so I was being depressed over losing a small novel's worth of writing. But hey, no biggie, some of it needed to be completely rewritten in any case, so it's not all bad. 
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments, however. Those cheered me up, really. 
> 
> Anyway, without further ado, here you go, enjoy the newest installment! Finally out after only a couple of months. As always, all comments are appreciated, and if you notice any glaring mistakes, do not shy away from informing me. I do check for them even after publishing chapters, but if I'm clearly missing a sentence or something (which has happened before), I'd be grateful if you told me. There might be more of them here now that I haven't really been able to proofread it with thought, but of well.

The moment Cullen had laid his eyes upon Alana Amell, he'd known she was a special woman. 

Well, not really. In his stupid youth, at first he'd thought she was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. Admittedly, it was not hard for him to see why he'd come to that conclusion. Tall, plump in a way that made even the mage's robes seem flattering, blue eyes that shone contrasted against her dark skin and her hair, a face right out of a sculpture of Andraste herself... She caught the eye of _everybody_ , and her visage had had templars and mages alike admiring her. In his case it was from a respectable distance, without _any_ leering, of course. He wasn't a miscreant.

And not to say that he'd never seen attractive women before! Far from it. After all, he had been taught by numerous lay sisters and templars and trained alongside women too, some of whom had been most fetching, but Amell had been just so  _different_  in comparison _._ She'd almost seemed regal and in no way had she seemed like someone who belonged in a tower in the middle of a lake. More like the celebrated diva of an Orlesian opera, or an Antivan princess. Of course in hindsight he'd been correct in his assumption, seeing as he'd learned that she was, in fact, at least related to nobility in Kirkwall, but by then he'd already lost the attitude of the starry eyed youth he'd possessed what felt like ages ago. He no longer thought of "regal" as a way to compliment someone, that was for certain. He'd had to learn the hard way just how overrated and shortsighted most nobility truly was, perhaps even more so after joining the Inquisition. Crisis just meant loss of status and fortune for them.

In any case, the special part had come later. Ignoring her looks, even when she was an apprentice respecting her had been easy, and for a boy like him, who'd perhaps been somewhat prideful and overly pious fresh out of training, it had been a lot to ask for, but nevertheless, it had come on its own. In general, they did not teach templars to respect mages as _people_ , or be gentlemen, something which was more apparent with some of them than others, sometimes much to his disgust. His own neglect to notice the actions that these sorts of behavioral patterns led to in time did nothing to better his conscience either. 

Amell had been the personal apprentice of the First Enchanter brimming with talent, and a well liked figure even amongst templars. He'd heard from his seniors how she'd lived in the Tower her whole life, and most of them had had a certain kind of familiarity with her due to that. One had even admitted to sneaking her gifts from the times he'd been to Denerim while delivering phylacteries. All in all, his second impression of her had been a very rule abiding, charismatic woman, very much the perfect picture of what a Circle mage should be. He'd earnestly believed that she might've very well been on her way to being the future Grand Enchanter, if she played her cards right. 

At the same time, however, she'd seemed like she was unapproachable. At first he'd thought he was just afraid of meeting the eyes of a pretty lady, or getting caught talking to apprentices (which had been a real concern, seeing as templars were supposed to be guardians, not friends or companions, not that that had stopped him later, of course), but despite himself, he was intrigued with Amell, and found himself seeking her out when he was on duty, be it the library or lessons, watching the corridors or just while dining. Sometimes he would just make up silly dialogue in his head, in case she ever spoke to him, even when he knew just how hopeless his infatuation with her was. Not with one of his charges. Not when she'd never even seen him without his helmet on or heard his name, for crying out loud!

But it wasn't just him, it was everybody. There had seemed to be an unwritten rule to never approach Amell first, especially among apprentices. He did not know what it had been based on. True, she had never been too friendly, but she wasn't callous either. After all, the whole reason they became properly acquainted had been due to her helping him out, out of all things. His best bet was on her being so closely tied to the First Enchanter, as it was most likely a distance that had been there due to respect, which had sadly morphed into isolating after the incident after her Harrowing.

Ah, there he went again. Perhaps the way she'd occupied his thoughts had been his undoing, back then. He'd certainly had more than enough fodder for the demon to latch its dirty claws onto, that was for certain. She seemed to have this kind of effect on him, make him think of nothing but her even after all these years. Then again, it didn't really seem that far fetched at all to think that he would be able to go off on a tangent about her at any given moment. Whom had he hallucinated about at his recent low point, just now? Who was to say that this right now wasn't just him dreaming up Amell's voice to an apostate that simply wasn't her? 

The Amell now looked _nothing_ like the respectable woman from the Circle. She looked wild, like she'd been living in less than desirable conditions for a long time, which was entirely plausible, seeing as that was the route most newly made apostates had been forced upon, without anyone to support them or take them in, the roundness of her form gone. Her velveteen robes – it was either velveteen or dried blood – were in tatters, and her hair was shorter, haphazardly cut it seemed, as opposed to her long hair she'd always kept in a neat bun. He wished he could see her face, even as he knew that it wouldn't be the same, either. Nothing but her voice reminded Cullen of the apprentice, the mage he had once known.

He had not even known she was alive.

Was she truly...?

Someone touched his arm, and the room came back to him thanks to Dorian, who had most likely heard the shouting all the way to the library, and had come to check upon the commotion. It seemed like the crowd was only getting bigger, as Dorian was not the only new addition from the library. He could see Grand Enchanter Fiona above across from them. Clearly she'd found the better place to be, as she could see the goings on of the judgement more clearly. She was also decidedly far away from First Enchanter Vivienne, who had only moved to the railing from her usual spot at the balcony, to get a better view herself.

“You're looking awfully pale, Commander. The court intrigue too suspenseful for you?” he quipped. It was then when Cullen noticed how he had been holding his breath in and how his hands were in tight fists. If he hadn't been wearing his gloves, his nails would've surely dug into his palms. He spread his fingers open, almost forcibly, and brought his hands to rest on the hilt of his sword instead, only to find it gone. He had left in such a hurry that he'd...

Andraste have mercy, he had to think of something, maybe interrupt this very much abrupt sitting. The villagers had just burst in with her and she... If she truly was what they claimed then no one in the room was safe.

Maker. He had been so willing to stop this foolishness just moments ago, so what was holding him back, especigally now? He knew for a fact that she couldn't be a demon. None would be foolish enough to attack at the heart of the Inquisition. Even most abominations at failed Harrowings knew they wouldn't get too far. However, that didn't mean she couldn't just be a murderer... Before he _could_ do anything, Amell spoke again.

“Now that I have your attention.” she said, addressing the whole room. “My name is Alana Amell. I am – _was_ an Enchanter of Kinloch Hold, a Fereldan Circle of Magi, and none of these claims against me hold any semblance of truth to them.”

Dorian's brow furrowed, and Cullen tried his best to remain calm. Assess the situation. Dear Andraste, it really was her, and not some delusion of his? This was truly happening. _What was he to do_?

The Inquisitor leaned back on his throne, steel grey eyes locked with Amell's, who was still poised like she might jump at him at any given moment. 

“So, you were seen killing people – my Inquisition soldiers mind you – and you're saying you have nothing to do with it? Nothing at all?” Lavellan said, offering to let her have her say once again as he leaned back in his chair.

“Aren't you everyone's favorite tool of demon's bane? Do you not know how demons function, how their minds work?" The room was filled with outraged whispering at her retorts towards the Inquisitor of all people, but she paid them no heed. "What kind of a demon doesn't just kill all of the witnesses _if_ there are any, or try and manipulate the truth to suit their needs? No demon I've ever heard of, not even one of sloth, and trust me, I have spent the last ten years meticulously studying them. I was 'found' _next_ to the bodies, not killing anyone!” Amell sounded more agitated with each word, but she tried her best to remain civil, taking in a deep breath, probably in an attempt to calm herself. “I've written a book on this subject before. It is 'The Extensive Study on Possessions and on How Demons Live Amongst Us'. If there's even one well read mage among you...”

Dorian's eyes lit up.

“Ah, so that's where I'd heard the name before! It was an interesting read, although a bit far fetched at times. Fascinatingly scandalous, and hard to come by, especially in Tevinter. I wondered if the author was sitting in some sort of prison for writing it, but apparently not... Yet, at least.” he said thoughtfully, to no one in particular.

“Is this true?” the Inquisitor asked the men. They shuffled amongst themselves, none of them too keen to speak up after Amell's previous outburst. Suddenly Cullen was beginning to remember why she had had so much breathing space to herself before. 

“... Well, I don't know anything about the Circle and mages, but... It is true that no one saw her kill a soul.” admitted one of the villagers, “But she was the only one..!”

But Amell interrupted him, turning towards him, shaking her head.

“ _What_? I was not the only one there, and you know it!” She was nearly beside herself with anger, even though to the people who didn't know her she probably sounded more collected than she actually was. ”Please, we don't need to waste time here. The killer of your soldiers is on the loose, and he _is_ a demon.”

While addressing Lavellan, she was all business once again. If Cullen was being perfectly honest, it made her seem disingenuous, and he didn't doubt others thought so too.

“That is hogwash!”

A villager, one who had not spoken before, a small man red in his face, with anger or shame, Cullen could not decipher fully, had decided to try and interrupt Amell. She just looked at him, and Cullen could not see her face, but the man fell silent once more, so it must've been quite the look. Now that he could imagine. It was the glare she sent other apprentices in the library when they were being too loud, or when her friend (Maker, he could not remember his name for the life of him, had it truly been that long?) had done something to anger her. It was something that would silence a timid person for more than just a moment.

“Please, messere, it is in our best interest to let Lady Amell speak.” said Josephine, diplomatic as always, and Lavellan nodded in approval. Amell nodded back at him, as if they were having a debate or a normal conversation, not one with her in ropes.

“A demon, most likely an at least somewhat powerful one going by the carnage it caused, has taken possession of the mayor of these people's village, masquerading as him for Maker knows how long until your Inquisition came knocking. It panicked, and slaughtered your men thinking they were after it." Amell was speaking fast without a pause, and she took a quick, shallow breath before continuing. "I unfortunately happened to be in the village at that time, where I was overpowered by these people and made into a scapegoat. It then manipulated the whole village into thinking I was the abomination there, and will undoubtedly be halfway across Orlais or Ferelden or where ever if nothing is done soon. In the worst case scenario, it will possess someone new and try and blend into society once more.”

A silence followed her monologue, as everyone digested what she had just said. However, the man who had opposed Amell before stepped forward once more, to plead the Inquisitor directly this time.

“Your Worship, you didn't see what we did. It took more than ten of us to tie her down and knock her out! Our men are strong, we work the fields, work with animals who weigh a lot more than this scrawny little thing, yet she fought us off like a wild druffalo! She shouldn't have been able to throw our lads off her, but she did. That isn't right. We took a weapon off her too, and which mages wield blades?” he asked, and Amell practically growled in frustration, pinning the poor man down with her heated glare once more.

“If you thought about that more, then surely you'd realize I could've escaped at any time, and I could've easily slaughtered all of you villagers like I did the Inquisition _soldiers_ , as you say I did. Me being here? A gesture of my good will.” she said, with barely restrained hostility. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself once again. “Besides, it seemed foolish to appear as a mage at these times. I doubt anyone would've let me into the village if I had appeared as one... And I was in a desperate need for an actual bed to sleep in. Please. I am not the demon you want me to be, just as messere Julian is not the honorable man you took him for.”

None of the villagers said anything in retaliation, and the room waited for the Inquisitor's response, some with baited breath. Or maybe that was just Cullen.

“... Could you untie this woman already?” Lavellan sighed, and Amell visibly relaxed as he said so. One of the soldiers on duty untied her, and she rubbed her sore wrists, and the Inquisitor hopped off his throne to her.

“Sorry for doubting you. As for you...” he said, addressing the men, “Seeing as there was no real harm done, and you brought back our fallen soldiers, there is no reason for me to be cruel. Just as long as she agrees, you're off the hook. Also, we have a demon in your village to deal with, so I'd like to ask for all of your cooperation. Now...”

The crowd started dissolving, and Cullen slipped away too. He didn't feel like staying behind or joining them in what was surely going to end up as a plan to go after said demon. They might've needed him too, _but_.

But.

He could not... He just could not face her. Not yet.

That wasn't just it. This felt bizarre. In a way he'd hoped all these years that he could see her again, for one last time, to apologize. Now that she was here, though, it seemed like he'd secretly thought that he'd never actually have to see her, ever again, and all the hurt he'd caused her would just go away on its own instead.

He was halfway to his quarters when Dorian caught up to him.

“Here you are, slinking away like some thief. How very unlike of you, Commander.”

Cullen gritted his teeth. He did not need to be confronted about this. He entered his office, and Dorian invited himself in. Immediately as he got in his face wretched into a look of mock disgust. What Cullen hoped to not be actual disgust.

“You're living in a pigsty! Is that part of the ceiling in the corner there? This place becomes worse the more you renovate it! It reminds me of the library, and that is not a compliment. How can you work here?” he asked, and stepped over a pile of books and reports mixed together, to follow Cullen to his table. “So who is this lady Amell to you exactly? Old flame? Mother to your illegitimate children?”

It took a moment for Cullen to register that Dorian had even spoken, but when he did, he felt his cheeks flush with anger.

“ _What?!_ ” he growled, his brow furrowing.

“Don't be daft, I was only jesting.” said Dorian, lifting his hand up in defense, waving him off. “You seemed very invested in the outcome of this particular event, and judging by your reactions, you have to know her.”

Dorian... Dorian and Cullen were not exactly friends. Not yet at least, but Dorian seemed to be reaching out to him as one, and actually concerned about him, not just looking for gossip. It seemed foolish to refuse. Besides, he hadn't had a mage as a friend since, well, Amell. As well as gaining the friendship of a fine, if not a bit eccentric man, maybe he'd be able to prove to himself he was over some of the pettiness of his past. Still, Cullen hesitated. He wasn't even sure if he'd earned this friendship.

“I originally served at the Fereldan Circle. She was a mage there, nothing more.”

He wasn't ready to talk about this.

“That's all there is to it?”

“That is all. Please, Dorian. Now, did you wish to talk about something else or...?”

Dorian sighed, and shook his head. “I see how it is. You seem to be in the need of a distraction however, so how about a friendly game of chess? Who knows, I might even let you win this time.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and thank you for all the kudos. I've got to say, this chapter was fun to write. Now that I've had to kind of rethink this whole thing, I've hopefully gotten some awkwardness out of the writing.

The Inquisitor was an... Interesting man.

Alana had to admit, she had not heard much of the Inquisition, prior to being dragged there. She knew of the first one, of course, but when the Breach had appeared in the sky, she had been very deep in the Brecilian Forest, and reaching civilization had taken her far longer than she could ever have anticipated. Besides, the... Simple, normal folks at any given location were not very helpful either, with their information being faulty at best, third hand gossip and misinformation at worst. It was all about him being a heretic, the Dalish who claimed to be the Herald of Andraste, here to usurp the Sunburst throne itself, looking to sell them all as slaves to Tevinter and what not if his rise to power was to be complete. If those weren't bad enough, he was, in fact, the one who'd torn the skies open in the first place.

All rubbish of course, but it was somewhat distressing to see that people believed it about this young man. Well, young and young. You never knew, especially not with elves. Grand Enchanter Fiona had looked the same age for as long as Alana could remember, with barely any wrinkles on her face or a grey hair on her head. She still retained her original opinion though, and was certain the Inquisitor had to be at least five years her junior, based on her gut feeling alone.

She still found him somewhat hard to deal with, and it certainly wasn't because Alana was overwhelmed by his "majestic presence", or supposed holiness. If she was to pinpoint one thing, he wasn't simply a difficult person, but her problem stemmed more from the way he tackled things head on instead of wallowing in them like she usually did, which messed with her pace. It was perfectly understandable that she didn't magically just get along with him, as even exalted people were just that, people. It wasn't even her first time with dealing with someone larger than life. Even if it was brief, she'd fought alongside the Hero of Ferelden of all people, and by now the woman was a living legend, her actions seeming less and less real the more years had passed in relative peace.

Sadly more and more people seemed to think that it was an excuse not to appreciate her or the Wardens anymore, but she could see where those kinds of thoughts came from. Who took down a Blight in a year, admits a civil war and with all the odds stacked against her? What she'd been able to do, with such little resources and so few allies at the beginning was a marvel. She'd go as far as to say that without Dyl Brosca, they'd probably be fighting a Blight as well as repairing the very Veil itself. But it was true that the Hero of Ferelden hadn't had nearly as bad a smear campaign against her as the Inquisitor had to face right now, and had been able to fight her war in relative peace from these kinds of schemes. 

The tone had changed of course, over time, but she was sure there were still poor unassuming people who believed that the Inquisition was out to do them harm. She'd been entirely willing to believe that that was the case with herself, when he didn't initially believe her over the village lunatics. That had made her lash out, which in hindsight had not been the greatest of strategies, but it had all worked out in her favor, thankfully. 

“So, can you set out now?” The Inquisitor asked Alana, after he had told her he'd chase after the demon with her himself, fed her, let her get washed, outfitted her in his Inquisition's battlemage gear, _and_ given her her a staff of her own to boot. It was like this was a weird recruitment tactic, and Alana wasn't sure how she felt about it. Soon a price would come up, she just knew it. But this was just another organization with Chantry origins, be it one that allied with the "rebel" mages or not. She'd seen the templars here in passing, and having been away from them for as long as she had, she wasn't sure how she felt being under their scrutiny again. 

The Lady Ambassador Josephine, who had joined them once again, was none too pleased with the situation either. They were gathered in a room meant for strategy, it seemed, if the map of Thedas with tokens on it was any indication. Well, whatever the room was, it was private, away from prying eyes and ears. Alana was sure they would not be disturbed here. Not that they were even going over anything important. Maybe they'd just come here for the map? It seemed plausible. 

“Inquisitor, you have just returned yourself. Might I suggest you rest a little, before leaving again? There are some matters with our allies that need your attention.” she suggested, and the elven man just shrugged, his demeanor not one of a person in this nearly exalted position. In fact, he seemed indifferent towards the “allies” the ambassador mentioned.

“I'm Dalish, remember? I've practically spent my whole life on the move.” He turned to face Alana, looking for her support against the Lady Ambassador. “Amell?"

“I'm fine with it, if you are sure.” she said, and he smiled at her. She knew he was partially using her to shrink from his duties, but the demon needed their attention as well, so she saw no real harm in it.

“Great! We can go get the men who brought you here. They can lead us back to their village, where we'll hopefully recover clues of the demons location, if he even left at all, that is.” he explained. “We'll get a carriage to carry the rest of them there, while one of them rides with us. That way well be faster. They did bring back our fallen, so we should provide that they come home safely. I'll go see whom else we can bring along.”

Alana had to stop his planning though. The very notion of her riding a horse...

“Wait, riding? I've never – ” she tried to explain, but the Inquisitor just laughed at her.

“Trust me, you'll learn. I'm a good teacher.” He actually had the audacity to wink at her, and Alana countered the playful behavior with a deadpan look. This was serious.

“Either I ride behind one of you, or I ride in the carriage. While it is somewhat close by with your new roads, it's still a day's journey to get to the village, at best. I'm not going to make that journey any longer by falling off a horse constantly.” she told him, and he pouted. Pouted! He could not be older than her, he just could not.

“I see we're at a standstill here.” said Josephine. “Might I suggest that the carriage with Lady Amell leave first, and that the Inquisitor, along with his companions, follow after?”

He sighed once more, but this time in defeat.

“You really want me to do whatever it is you want me to do, don't you, Josephine? Have it your way then.” He turned to Alana again. “We'll arrange for the carriage to leave now, but we _will_ catch up with you before you reach the village. Dareth shiral. The soldiers will take it from here.”

And with that Alana found herself in the company of very apologetic but silent men (excluding one, of course) and a couple of Inquisition soldiers, on a carriage ride that seemed to drag on forever.

Oh well. At least she wasn't bound, gagged and on corpses this time. There was a bright side to even this situation. 

 

True to his word, the Inquisitor reached them just as they were about to enter a passage that led to the secluded mountain village, or Soring, as it was called, with a colorful bunch in tow.

Not only was there a Qunari with an eyepatch and horns that she was sure were huge for even one of his kind, but a fancy looking beardless dwarf (and was that a crossbow he wielded?), as well as a bald elven mage, who looked like a hermit who had just crawled out of a cave, from the way he was dressed. Briefly she thought of making a quip about the Inquisitor having stolen all their hair, with him having a long full red mane of it and all, but decided against it. It was inappropriate at best, and no one really appreciated her sense of humor.

After a short greeting between her and the Inquisitor, Alana felt like introductions were in order.

“Thank you all, well, for assisting me. Coming here.” She was already losing her train of thought. “None of us have met. I am Alana Amell.”

The dwarf stepped forward, his interest in her clear.

“Varric Thetras. I was there for your rather pompous introduction back in Skyhold. It was somewhat hard to miss.” he told her, and she didn't know how else to react but by nodding at him. He wasn't done yet though. “I know we're on a tight schedule and all, but are you an Amell as in A-M-E-L-L? Originally from Kirkwall Amell?”

Being under such inquiry about her family was unnerving. It meant that he had to know she had once been considered a noble there before the discovery of her gift, and that she had blood-ties to the now infamous Champion of Kirkwall, a hunted man whom she had never met or heard of before she read the Tale of the Champion.

...Whom the _author_ of said book of course knew. She should've realized who he was the moment he introduced himself. How many Varric Thetrases could there be in Thedas? She was being daft.

“I hope it's not a problem?” she asked, and he laughed a little, but she could see that his interest in her was dwindling. It happened often when people oriented sorts met her, so she was not offended. When she had declined the position as the court enchanter of the Fereldan throne, King Alistair's letter back had nearly radiated relief. Either his scribe was too good at his job, or the king had wanted her to know just where she stood. Either way, it wasn't like it had mattered to her, as she'd been the one to reject his offer first.

But maybe then she could've avoided all that had happened to her during these ten years, like the most recent debacle of living in wilderness for nearly a year, _or_  she could've been branded a criminal on accounts of apostacy, and locked away somewhere, if not executed for the actions of rebels she did not commit, which was far more likely. The rock beds she'd slept on were a luxury compared to certain death, for sure. And in any case, it wasn't like she had deserved the position for her individual efforts. It had most likely been offered to her as a courtesy due to her rescue of Connor Guerrin from possession, and her efforts in the Battle of Denerim. Both were deeds she could've never achieved on her own, so she really could not take pride in them. 

“Don't worry. I've got someone back at Skyhold who would like to meet you, that's all.”

She raised an eyebrow at the person who supposedly wanted to meet her, but before she could ask, or tell him she wasn't planning on returning to Skyhold with them, the mage spoke up.

“You're chattering her ear off, when it's clear we have important matters to attend to.” he told Varric, who shook his head, backing off and muttering something about “chuckles” and “sticks”, the tone implying it was something insulting. 

“I am Solas, a mage such as yourself, as I'm sure you are aware.” he continued, and even though he was quick with his words, he was somehow not nearly as conversational as Varric had been. 

“A pleasure to meet a peer.” Alana replied, and got a small smirk in return, as he leaned against his staff.

“Even if I'm not from a Circle?”

The revelation came to her as a surprise. She had not thought him a Dalish from the get go, due to him missing the tattoos the Inquisitor was covered in, and sure, he looked, well, like a wanderer, but a hedge mage? Meeting one was extremely rare. The only one she'd ever met was an insane hermit, who had left an unflattering first impression. Solas, though, seemed way more refined than he had been. Then again, they had both started antagonizing her from the get go, so maybe that was something they both shared.

“Self taught then? I'm sure the Inquisition keeps only the best of mages around. A peer is a peer, regardless of origin.” she said, and his smile, still with an edge to it, did not falter.

“Well said.”

Next up was the qunari. Even though Alana was a tall woman, taller than both the Inquisitor and Solas and even some of the human men, he still easily towered over her. He wasn't trying to intimidate her though. In fact, he seemed quite friendly.

“The name's Iron Bull. Heard you're some sort of demon expert?” he asked, and Alana nodded. 

“On demonic possessions and abominations, to be exact. After the Blight it's all that I've been studying, to the best of my ability.” As she said that she could almost feel Solas' eyes on her, his gaze decidedly neutral, but as she peered at him, it seemed more callous and calculating. He did not hold the Circles in high regard, it seemed, or her studies. So much for being peers. She shouldn't've said anything to him, to save herself from yet another embarrassing misunderstanding. She and her big mouth. 

“Well. Good to have you on our side, then. Hope we'll get to kick some demon ass soon.” Iron Bull said, while rubbing his hands together in anticipation, as if it was the only thing stopping him from reaching for the great-axe strapped to his back already. Alana wasn't as optimistic as him though, nor was she looking forward to the coming fight.

That was it with the pleasantries. Thankfully without any more playful jesting from any of the party, they came up with a plan.

They would send a scout ahead. If the village was deemed to be safe, and not just a bunch of corpses, the villagers would enter first, to put the demon off guard by telling him they'd beaten Alana to death themselves (Alana doubted that the demon would believe the Inquisition would fall for her being a demon), if he was in fact still there. They would go around the passage, watch from a safe distance, and ambush if need be.

The scout came back with good news, and they set off with their plan. Once they'd taken their position Alana watched with baited breath as the men nervously entered their home, and unlike she had thought, the demon who called himself Julian did arrive to greet them.

Why was he still here? Any demon would've escaped by now, so preserve it's position in the world. It made no sense. He had to have a strong connection to this village to fulfill his purpose, but why like this? A young teen ran to his side, as he went to to greet the men returning to the village. This had to be the aforementioned daughter. His wife was probably somewhere in the crowd too, as it seemed like the whole village was at out and about. Were they the connection? Or was it the whole village? When she had briefly met him while he was masquerading as a human, he had not seemed like a demon at all.

He was the perfect candidate for study, and for a moment she pitied that they had to off him. Well, it was only fair as he had tried to get her killedin a very unorthodox manner...

“Erm... I'd hate to cut off your wonderful analysis, but you're talking to yourself.” the Inquisitor whispered to her, and she snapped out of her own thoughts. 

“I apologize." she said, feeling a bit ashamed once again. She did have an excuse though. "I've just never seen such a perfect possession of a sentient being in practice. Only abominations and possessions of simpler life forms, such as trees. Well, I have seen abominations that retain a facade of humanity but _this_? It's on another scale. And without a doubt there are more like him, all throughout Thedas. This just proves that it doesn't have to be a mage for the possession to be potent. In fact, I'd go as far as saying – ”

“Uuuh... That's fascinating and all, but can we go and kill the demon already?” Iron Bull interrupted her, horror visible on his face. Alana refrained from correcting him that they would only be killing the host, and banishing the demon. It didn't seem very comforting.

“Shall we?” the Inquisitor asked, and everyone got ready for combat, as they approached the village. At their signal, the men and the soldiers would scatter the villagers, so that the demon would have no hostages. They had discussed strategy before, and as Alana had not actually seen the demon in action, they were going in blind, pretty much. Well, if you counted all of them being experienced in fighting demons as blind.

Alana sent an arcane bolt into the air as a signal, and they reacted to it accordingly.

“FIRE!” yelled one of the men. “There's a fire!”

In the confusion most of the villagers were safely removed from the scene. The daughter stayed in her fathers arms though, probably thinking that was where she was the safest. Most surprisingly, when they approached the demon, with soldiers in tow, he did not drop his act.

“What? Who are you people? Why are you doing this? Is that... _The demon with you_? Andraste have mercy, what have you done?” he asked, hiding his daughter behind him.

“The shticks up. We know who the real demon is.” answered the Inquisitor, drawing his bow. Julian was still keen on playing the innocent spectator though, and he cowered under their scrutiny, while his daughter whimpered behind him.

“You'll find no demons among us. Who are you to come and disturb this village's peace? Are you pillagers? We have nothing! I beg of you, please...”

It would've been fascinating to watch, if not for the villagers starting to return, ready to protect their mayor once more, as they had from Alana. If this went on, the Inquisitor and his companions would start doubting her too. She had to intervene.

“If you will not reveal yourself, I will!” she shouted, drawing his attention to herself, and like she had done long ago in the Harrowing chamber, to aid the Hero of Ferelden in defeating the possessed Uldred, she recited The Litany of Adralla, the Ancient Tevene words shaking the very core of the demon that stood before them.

He twisted, like the words were poison to him, like a force was tearing him apart from the inside. His will to remain human was strong though, but the Litany would not betray her, Alana knew that, as she finished.

“Papa?” whimpered the girl, most likely knowing that whatever was happening right now was not natural, but she did not move, paralyzed with fear. Most of the villagers had truly fled this time, and the only one who was left was this girl. The mayor turned to her, and at the same time Inquisitor fired at his head, the shot destroying was left of his supposed humanity.

“Shield the girl!” he shouted, and the demon finally revealed its true form, rendering the flesh of its host into something grotesque, its form becoming something that resembled a human, but not quite, not in the horrifying way it had no clear face anymore. Nothing of the mayor was left, and in his place stood an abomination.

Both Solas and Alana were quick in casting their barrier spells, granting them and the girl momentarily protection, and Iron Bull charged at the demon with a fearsome yell, and aimed a crippling blow at it with his great-axe, sending it flying for a brief moment, but this was the moment that gave it time to summon shades to it's aid.

Feeling at the ripples of the Fade around her, Alana took a step and in an instant she was by the girl's side.

“Run! You'll be safe, trust me!” she told her, and the girl sobbed, but obeyed. She sprinted, and Alana brought haste to her step and made sure no shade came to harm her, while side eyeing the battle going on at the same time.

While Iron Bull held the attention of most of the demons, Varric and Lavellan made easy pickings out of the shades with their bows, and Solas continued to support them from the back, occasionally raining death upon single enemies. However, the demon was flexible, to say the least, and even though Iron Bull's blows seemed to shatter him over and over again, he came back to strike with twice the force.

The shades too, seemed to multiply faster than they could be dealt with, and keeping all of their attention was an overwhelming task for even one qunari, and while a couple of Inquisition soldiers were making easy pickings of the stragglers in the sidelines, they were not as experienced at fighting demons as any of the other people here.

They needed another close quarter combatant. They needed her to be one.

A million thoughts ran through her head at once. Her gear was not right for this. She had no sword on her. She had never fought like this, not for her life.

Still.

She searched for the sparse Inquisition soldiers in the battlefield, and found one fighting a shade. In a step she was by his side, frost taking over the field as she passed through.

“Give me you sword!” she told him, as the enemy in front of him froze, his clothes also gathering frost, but she wouldn't be the one to tell him that.

“What?!” he yelled, but Alana did not ask twice, and just grabbed the weapon from him, and focused on channeling her magic inward, into her muscles and deeper still. Testing her grip, she found that she still remembered the sword, remembered how it was supposed to be wielded, and delivered a shattering blow on the frozen shade before her.

“Stand back!” she told the soldier, and this time he did as she asked without question. She ran to the middle of the fray, feeling too drained of mana to risk Fade-stepping once more, and much to Iron Bull's surprise, stood by his side.

“You can focus on the big one, I'll take the smaller ones!”

She shielded herself with arcane might, shrouding herself in the Fade ( _like he would've done_ ), as she did not have armor ( _he stood in glimmering silverite armor_ ), and by sending a pulse of frost magic around her, she lured demons to her.

One after another she downed them, the foreign feeling of being in in close quarters exhilarating her will to fight even more. So much so, that as she felled her last shade, she turned to look for more, only to find that they had already achieved victory.

However, the Inquisitor with his companions just stood there, clearly alert of _her._ She dropped her sword, in confusion, and let her shields go, feeling the fade unwrap itself from around her. The magic that flowed inside returned outside again, and she felt utterly spent, and sweaty like never before. 

“Wha... What's wrong?” she asked, out of breath. She could not help herself, and leaned on her knees, gasping for air. This had taken a bigger toll on her than she realized. Her muscles started aching, more so than after she had tried out her new arcane art for the first time.

“What's _wrong_? You fight like _that_ and ask us what's wrong!” Varric said, shaking his head. He did sound amazed, so she must've done something right. The Inquisitor was looking at her with doubt in his eyes, though, for the first time since she'd convinced him she was human.

“You... What _did_ you do? One moment you're there, with a _sword_ and then... It was like you were half gone.”

“I...” Alana gasped for air. “This... May seem bizarre... To you... I...”

She tried catching her breath, but Solas seemed to know what to say before she could even think of her next words.

“I know this fighting style, from the Fade. You fought nearly  _exactly_ like the elven Arcane Warriors. It was Dirth'ena Enasalin, knowledge that led to victory.” Solas sounded baffled, if not a little upset. “Where did you acquire that skill?”

She answered, after she felt like her breathing was stable enough for her to talk. “Do you want the short version or the long version of the event? If it's the long one I might need to sit down.”

She might've needed to sit down in any case. Lavellan shook his head in disbelief, a small smirk on his lips. “Short, please.”

“After the Circles fell, I wanted to travel, so I did. In an elven ruin I found a vial, or a phylactery of sorts, and inside it was a spirit, a ghost, really an Arcane Warrior of the past, although he barely knew himself. He had been trapped there for several millennia, spiraling in and out of madness each time he woke up, forgetting more and more each time, and his final wish was to be destroyed. But, he also wanted to pass down his skills, his legacy, so I let him. Now I can... Do what he could. As much as he could remember, at least. Channel my magic inward, turning spell power into physical might.”

The explanation was something she'd rehearsed a lot, and maybe is showed, as there was a silence that followed.

“I have not been possessed. I did nothing wrong, and I granted him death afterwards.”

She left out the part in which she lay passed out in the temple for a day or two after taking his boon, to reduce the shock factor. Still, no one spoke. She felt the need to fill the silence. She looked at the Inquisitor,trying her best not to seem as exhausted as she felt. “I... What will you have of me now? If I have insulted you, or if you think me a thief, say so, and I will depart, as fast as I can.”

“Insulted me? Because I'm Dalish?” he asked her, and she nodded.

“Your friend too. If apologies are in order...” she said, motioning to Solas.

Lavellan looked baffled, and looked at his elven companion for guidance. Solas shook his head, a small smile gracing his lips, still decorated with it's jagged edge Alana was already growing accustomed to.

“That was a magnificent display of power. Everything down to your swordplay was accurate. I must admit, I did not think a Circle mage capable of this kind of open-mindedness. Most would've just let the spirit be, out of fear. The way you incorporated the Fade into your fighting style...”

“It was pretty awesome, yeah.” The Iron Bull cut in, and Alana allowed herself to relax a little, letting out a relieved sign.

“There's one thing I'm confused about. Why would I call you a thief?” asked the Inquisitor.

“Well, I assumed, with your heritage and all, and me being human...” Alana trailed off. It was something she'd agonized over for days after she'd realized what she'd done. If only a Dalish, or any elf for the matter had been there, so that they could've reclaimed part of their legacy.

“Don't assume.” he told her, and shrugged. He did not want elaborate how he felt about it. Maybe he was upset, maybe he wasn't. There was no way of knowing, right now. Nevertheless, Alana was caught off guard.

“Oh, um, well. My apologies.”

He was, and continued to be a very interesting man. Hostility did not seem to be part of his repertoire. Much unlike all the stories she'd heard of the Dalish herself. Third hand gossip was all that she had heard, and the books on Dalish we're just books written by scholars, not the actual people. The ones who'd come to Denerim to aid against the Blight had kept to themselves, and in the confusion it wasn't like she'd had time to talk to any of them. She was glad to have met him, even if it was brief. Now though, it was time for them to part. She stood upright, and did her best not to flinch at the way it pulled at her muscles.

“I must go recover my belongings, if the demon left them be, that is. I'm sure you have other inquisitorial business to attend to.” she told him. “If you want me to pay for the outfit I'm wearing I will, but I can give it back, as I do have a spare set of robes in my bag. I should have some coin with me, if it hasn't been looted by anyone. Other than that, I think our time together has come to an end.”

"Wait!" She'd been able to take only a couple of steps before Lavellan called after, looking conflicted as she turned around.

“Why not join the Inquisition? Someone of your prowess would be greatly appreciated, in research _and_ in combat.” he asked her in earnest. It was an offer she'd expected, and had already basically rejected, but even then, she had to stop for a moment, to contemplate. Joining would mean duties, but when she thought back on life on the road, it had not been the most pleasant experience either. It was embarrassing to admit, but both the warm bath and the hearty meal she had at Skyhold had been the first ones she'd had in months. Warming up small pools of water at the risk of the local wildlife there did not count, and those were mistakes that would not be repeated again.

She could probably tolerate the templars, if they didn't resume to think of themselves as her superiors. They had to have calmed down, however, as her fellow mages at the Inquisition would probably have rebelled if a templar tried something with them, and that was something that she would've heard of. 

So her mind was made up, for all the wrong reasons. She was a spoiled Circle Mage to the bone, she would be the first to admit that.

“If you'll have me. Although, I must retain the ability to leave at any time I desire.” she ended up saying, and the Inquisitor grinned from ear to ear.

“As you wish. Welcome to the Inquisition!”

The happiness in the grin took Alana by surprise, and already she felt like she'd made a mistake in joining them. She'd never be able to handle the Inquisitor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not going to make up Ancient Tevenese if no one on the Dragon Age team will. 
> 
> Also I apologize for the shoddy action scene. You'll also notice that outside of the Fade Step and the way barriers work Alana's spells come from the Origins skill set (with added Awakening spells).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello, welcome to the next installment of whatever this is. Sorry for the lateness and thank you for all the feedback once again! You're all lovely! I hope you enjoyed the POV shift to Alana (and her in general), from now on it'll be a thing. 
> 
> Please enjoy this chapter. As always, any comments are welcome, critique or otherwise. I might start replying to them. I just feel silly because it adds to the comment count, but we'll see.

Once Cullen heard that Amell had left Skyhold to hunt the demon, he immediately regretted how he had been too much of a coward to go and talk to her. How could he have been so stupid? Briefly, he held onto the sliver of hope that she might return, but brushed it aside when he gave it more thought. It was more likely that she would never want to come back again. As if there was a reason for her to even do so. What use did she have of the Inquisition? At least _he_  hadn't done anything for her, that was for certain. 

If only he hadn't hesitated, he wouldn't have missed out on his one and only chance to apologize to her. To say anything, really. Just having her acknowledge his existence without disdain would've been _something_ , even if it was probably more than what he deserved.

And with the affirmation of his guilt, it was like his pains from not taking lyrium nearly doubled, not letting him sleep during the first night, as if the very world itself was taking vengeance upon him. Worst of all, as if this wasn't punishment enough, he saw _them_ again. Visions. Hallucinations. No matter how much he wanted to deny that they were even happening, he was sure it was Amell he was seeing, or the ghost of what she'd been in the past, at the least. He did not know the reason for them, and now he wished he'd spared this strange new side effect some more thought after it'd happened the first time.

He could mostly keep it at bay. Mostly. The pattern was clear to him now. With people, he was fine. He did not really know why, but he had an image to upkeep, after all, so maybe it was that. When he forgot though, relaxed, and found himself alone, she was there along with the pain, in the form of whispers he could not grasp, a ghost of whom she once was in the corner of his eye, watching him, and disappearing once he turned to look. Amell, Amell,  _Amell_ , almost to a maddening degree. If not for no one else noticing it, he would've been sure it was a demon toying with him once again. However, the one tormenting him was he himself, there was no doubt about that.

Surprisingly enough, talking to Cassandra about this proved to be useless. He was sure she would've taken this seriously, but as he tried to get a word in about his failing battle with lyrium addiction, about how he should be relived of his duties, she just shot him down, before he could even get to the lyrium ghost. And, being the coward that he was, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to tell her about the apparition, not anymore. She believed in him, and somehow it felt like it would be devastating if she didn't anymore. Not everyone was as foolishly open minded as Cole, after all.

"You are a good commander, Cullen," Cassandra had told him, as she'd done many times before, her disappointment in him clear. "Don't let _this_ ruin you. You are much stronger than you think you are, you need to realize it yourself."

But Cullen only realized that those words were ringing more and more hollow each time Cassandra echoed them. In fact, he wasn't sure if she believed in _him_ , or if she just wanted to keep him in the position she'd chosen him for herself, to keep the Inquisition strong and united. 

 

* * *

  

It was never hard to spot Amell, amongst all mages. This time, she was studying something late in the night when Cullen found her on his patrol around the library. A multitude of books were lying askew and open on the table around her, and she was scribbling something into a scroll at a pace that was sure to produce sloppy results. He'd seen her handwriting before, it was anything but decipherable when she got like this.

He still kept the one note he'd gotten from her, secret and hidden on his person, like the coin he'd gotten from Branson, just in case anyone came snooping around his things. "Good game", it read, although it had taken him a moment to understand that. Looking at it always brought forth memories of a secret game of chess that summer, played throughout the day on the board that someone had misplaced in the dining hall. It had ended in a draw, as someone had come to collect it, but it was a day full of secret looks and smiles Cullen would probably never forget.

If not for the group of mages huddled together closely on the other side of the room, he could've gone and talked to her a little. He'd started the book she'd recommended to him, and he wanted to tell her so, even if it was just an excuse to speak with her.  He still walked past her, because surely something like that wouldn't rouse suspicion, and Amell did look up once she heard his footsteps approach. Her lips twitched upwards when she saw that it was him, their eyes meeting only briefly, before her gaze returned to the candle light and the papers. It was a smile that was gone before it had even properly graced her face, but it still remained a gesture that made Cullen's stomach flip and his face flush slightly. He was glad they were friends, if only so that moments like this could occur. 

He passed the other mages too, to not rouse any suspicion, and their hushed whispers quieted once he passed by them, their feelings towards him definitely not as warm as Amell's had been. Cullen would not let that sour his mood. Whatever business they'd been talking about didn't concern him, in the slightest, nor their low opinion on him. They had Senior Enchanter Uldred with them anyway, and Cullen wasn't about to contend him. He'd become a very vocal Libertarian after he returned from the King's services, and Cullen was not supposed to debate with mages on these matters. So, instead, he fixed them with a brief look, showing them that he was, in fact, vigilant, and then he continued his rounds around the floor, barely able to suppress his smile. Maybe tomorrow he'd be able to speak with her.

Maybe tomorrow, he'd...

 

* * *

Cullen had only a handful of days to come to terms with this new form of what was sure to be insanity, as, much to his surprise, Amell did return to the Inquisition. It was pure chance that he'd happened to see the Inquisitor's party, as that morning he had been gazing into the camps below when he saw them arrive. This time it took him only a moments hesitation until he decided to march over and greet the surely successful demon hunting party at the gates, just as they were dismounting. Lavellan's companions were already off of their mounts, and Cullen exchanged small greetings with them, as they walked their horses to the stables. Varric especially seemed to be in a hurry, not even staying to comment on his uncharacteristic arrival at the gates. Then again, he was expecting a... Guest. If it really was Hawke coming to Skyhold, and it almost undoubtedly was him, Leliana was right: Cassandra would have Varric's head for this. 

Amell, whom Lavellan had been happily chatting with previous to his arrival, had been riding behind him, which was rather curious, as they'd had a spare horse. Then again, riding was not a skill needed by Circle mages. When they traveled, anywhere they needed to go, a carriage would take them there. It was a lot safer (and faster, as it tied down templars too) than just walking, and by that he meant that there was a smaller chance of anyone escaping.

“Inquisitor,” He greeted Lavellan first, of course, as it was only appropriate. “I trust your mission was a success?”

“As always, your trust in me is well placed.” Lavellan answered, jokingly, and got off his hart gracefully, leaving Amell where she sat. She looked uncomfortable at best, if not a little petrified, as well as unsure about what she was to do, as she remained on the mount, making no effort to get off of it. In fact, Cullen wasn't quite sure if she even knew how to get off the thing without falling face first into the ground. He wondered if he should go and offer his help, if that would be appropriate. Lavellan noticed his attention was elsewhere, and turned towards Amell as well. 

“Commander Rutherford, I'd like you to meet Alana Amell, a _very_ talented mage. She'll be joining our efforts.”

She was staying? Amell's gaze turned to him, and for a second, it felt like his heart about to leap into his throat as her eyes met his. But, she did not react to him, much to his confusion. No heated glare like the ones he received from some of the mages, no look of horror or disgust, no nothing. She just slowly blinked at him, and for a moment he feared that she did not recognize him at all. Had it been too long? Had he been just another templar in her life? Being forgotten by her suddenly seemed just as bad as being hated by her, if not humiliating to boot. At least her hatred was justified, if it even was there. The other option though... He was sure he'd never be able to forget her.

“ _Cullen_ Rutherford, I presume?” Amell asked, and clumsily, she slipped off the hart, annoying the animal greatly in the progress as she pulled on the fur and twisted the saddle upon her descent. However, the way she approached him was anything but clumsy. She walked with conviction, her face betraying nothing, eyes sharp, and any speeches he had prepared for her were long gone from his mind by the time she reached him. 

“Oh, um, h-hello.” Damn it. “I'm glad that... To see you that is.”

Amell's expression did not change at his blunder, but it was clear by now that she _definitely_ recognized him. 

“This is a surprise, but likewise.” she said, simply, as if she were commenting on the weather.

Oh, he was a regular fool. What was he this nervous for? He commanded armies now, he wasn't some whelp fresh out of training. Nor was she, for the matter. He was just glad Varric had not stayed behind and been here to witness this moment. He still liked to recount the moment he'd struggled over saying the word “brothel”. One time was all it took with that dwarf, and it was in a book for his audience to laugh at. Of course, all he'd heard about what was written about him was just second-hand knowledge. He himself hadn't actually dared to open the Tale of the Champion. Apparently he had been tragic and straight-laced, for the most part, something he wasn't sure what he should think about. Maker, had Amell read the book? He hoped not.

“Wait. You two know each other?” Lavellan interjected, and thank the Maker he did when he did. Cullen did not want to make even more of an arse out of himself.

“Yes.” said Amell, still mysteriously neutral. “The Fereldan Circle of lake Calenhad. We were acquainted.”

Not friends? Was she saying it that way for his sake, or her own? Lavellan eyed both him and Amell, and Cullen tried to communicate wordlessly to the Inquisitor not to leave them alone together. It was clear he needed more time to... Prepare himself.

But the Inquisitor had other plans, it seemed, as his grin only widened, turning devilish. “Well, I won't bother you anymore. You two can catch up. Commander, if you're not too busy you can show her around the place.” he said, but it was clear it wasn't exactly a request he could refuse. Cullen could not even begin to form the word “traitor” in his mind before a nervous stable boy brushed past him, to take the reins of the hart. The Inquisitor turned to Amell again. “Come meet Josephine when you're done. If she's not busy either she'll get you sorted out, or get someone else to do it for her. I'll find you later.” 

“Certainly.” she replied, and Lavellan looked pleased.

“Now, Commander, if there was nothing else...?” he drifted off, his expression awfully, awfully smarmy, and Cullen shook his head in defeat.

“Nothing, Inquisitor. I'm sure you have other matters to attend to.” Never mind the Inquisitor probably misunderstanding things, that could be sorted out later. 

“Then we'll talk later.” And with that he was gone, leaving Cullen alone with Amell. They awkwardly stood there, neither of them talking, just shuffling around with their feet, until Cullen cleared his throat, and took a step forward.

“Shall we?”

Amell followed, and he led her around Skyhold, only breaking the uneasy silence to point out where they were. She answered with mildly interested hums, and spoke for the first time at the battlements, where no one was around.

“I didn't realize that you were the commander here. I barely recognized you.”

Cullen made a conscious effort not to rub the back of his neck to soothe his nerves. After all that silence, he had not expected a normal conversation with her.

“It has been very long.” he replied, simply. He didn't tell her how he had not recognized her at first, either, or that he had been at the judgement in its entirety. Studying her more closely he could now see that as well as having gotten thinner along with the rest of her, her face had also aged ever so slightly, her features more elegant, if you did not count the dark circles under her eyes. Nothing significant though, she was still as fetching as ever, even in the battlemage armor. And maybe it was just the light. After all, he'd never seen her in direct sunlight. A sudden pang of guilt hit him, at that thought. The Fereldan mages hadn't even had outings, not after some apprentice had tried to escape by swimming away, years before he'd even been finished with his training. He wondered how it had felt like, not being able to go outside as you wished. Of course he hadn't been able to come and go as he pleased either, back then, but their circumstances were different. Very different.

“A decade.” Amell stopped, studying the hold briefly, her eyes wandering from the people below starting their day to the stonewalls of the garden, or maybe the red leaved tree there that could be seen from where they were. Amell didn't know what it was, however. He had to take her there too, if they had time. If she wanted to, that was.

“I know about Kirkwall." Amell said, out of the blue. Noticing his confusion, she quickly added, "I mean I read Tale of the Champion, and you were in it. That's how I know."

Cullen was almost ready to jump off the battlements when he heard that. Maker, he should've known. Of course she'd read the damned book. Who hadn't read that book? Well, never mind what he'd done, his shame came from what he'd said. As it was with all memories one would rather forget, he could remember vividly how he'd reminisced about her to Hawke, and if for whatever reason Varric had put in that moment, and she'd actually read that... He didn't know if he should read the book to confirm this or not, he really didn't. Part of him wanted to know, every other part screamed for him to let go of these embarrassing moments and bury them deep inside, lock them up and throw away the key. "She was a special woman... Never met her like again." The words that had seemed like a simple term of endearment certainly took an incriminating tone to them now. 

"I see." was the only reply he could muster. At the moment anything else seemed foolish. He only hoped his face wasn't as red as he felt like it was.

"What has happened since then?” she asked, surprising him. Even though the fact that Amell had read the book made him feel mortification beyond belief, Cullen was actually a bit pleased at her interest in him. Just moments ago he had just been an acquaintance. Then again, it had been him who had cut off her friendship from his life, back then. If it could've been called that. Maybe she had been humoring him all along, just as she seemed to be doing now, and their friendship had been a delusion of his. Now, he was savvy enough to see when he was being kept at an arm's length, and this was definitely one of such occasions.  

“I served the city and whatever was left the best I could, and was recruited into the Inquisition there, after the Order was disbanded.”

“Ah.” Amell cocked her head to the side, still studying the hold, but did not ask further questions about Kirkwall. He motioned that they should continue, and they proceeded to walk to the courtyard.

“What have you done?” Cullen asked, maybe a little bit to eagerly, and lamely added, “During these years, I mean.” 

They passed by the tavern and the requisitions office, and he glanced at the windows, suspicious of being seen with her. Of course this was completely justifiable, the Inquisitor had given him a task, after all, but people liked to run their mouths about the most mundane things. Some time ago Leliana had liked to send the same scout to him, as it was convenient, but for some incomprehensible reason a rumor had spread that they were having an affair. Ridiculous, of course, but what could you do to stop it? He did not want anyone to damage Amell's reputation just as she'd arrived. 

“Research, research, and some more research. I was promoted to an Enchanter some years ago, and that's about as interesting as it gets. I went to different Circles though, so there was that.”

“And after the Circles fell?”

“I traveled.”

Where and why, were the question that sprung to Cullen's mind, but ones he did not voice. It felt like he was overstaying his welcome in any case. And as it was, they had just entered the hall, which was full of curious eyes and probably bad memories for Amell, so it was the appropriate time to bid their goodbyes.

“I think this is all I should show you, for now. I could take you to Josephine's office, though. If you'd like?” he asked. Amell looked around a little, and spotted the door leading to where Josephine resided most of the day.

“I think I can manage on my own. You have done more than enough for me already, and I'm sure you're a busy person.” she said, and Cullen nodded. She was about to walk away, but he felt like he needed to say something, anything, to make the conversation not come to a halt. He hadn't even apologized yet! Although this was an inopportune time at best to do so, what with all the people that filled the hall. Even if it was early in the morning, the stone masons were not the only ones occupying the space. 

“If you need anything...” he opted to say instead of anything else silly. Amell did not stop, but she did look at him, twisting her body to half face him while still going forward.

“Thank you for the tour, Commander.” she called over her shoulder, and he watched her for a moment longer, before he remembered that he was, in fact, a busy man, and he did have a mountain of reports to go through, as well as training to supervise, if he found the free time anymore. His little “tour” had taken longer than he had imagined it actually would. Paperwork was a great mind numbing task, anyway. He did not need to think even more about Amell than he had before. Well, not _her,_ exactly. 

Would the ghost disappear now? The real Amell was here to stay, so maybe there was no need for the ghost for him anymore, to torment him, to make him feel inadequate for not apologizing to her when he'd had the chance. Now all he had were chances. He'd just have to find a best time for it, and the best words too. He couldn't just march up to her and demand that she forgive him, he saw that now. He had to come up with something discreet, and come up with it fast.

And there he went again. What had he thought just now? It seemed like all he could think about was Amell, like an old habit surfacing from the depths of his mind. Maybe instead of tackling the reports, he should ask Iron Bull to spar with him. Then again, he had just come back from a mission with the Inquisitor, so now was probably an inopportune time. Cassandra was probably more ready to berate him for his choices in life than have a friendly practice match with him, or worse, congratulate him falsely on the fact that he was back to normal, so that left either asking Blackwall if he was interested, or actually joining the recruits for training, which was where he was likely to find the man in the first place. At least that's where he'd been before, when it had still been early morning.

He made his way back to his quarters, and upon opening the door, he nearly closed it again, thinking he'd gotten the wrong room. But it was his office, damn it, and even if this was just another sign that he was going insane, he marched in, to confront yet another person or ghost from his past. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello again! This time there wasn't a huge gap of time between chapters, thankfully. 
> 
> As always, thank you for all the kudos, and enjoy this chapter.

Sitting on Cullen's desk, looking the same as the day he'd last seen him after he had fled from Kirkwall with most of his friends in tow, if not a bit more scruffy, was Aiden Hawke. He was tan and dark haired like Amell, but that's where the similarities ended. He'd seen more of Amell in his mother, Leandra, Maker rest her soul.

Hawke was also a man who was supposed to be in hiding with his apostate lover, not here in _his_ office. It made Cullen a bit flustered to see him, to say the least. Upon Cullen's arrival he hopped off the desk, and smirked at him, as roguish as he'd ever been.

“I was wondering when you'd decide to show up. Varric said that you spent most of your day holed up in here, so I came in early, but evidently that wasn't the case after all.”

“ _Hawke_.” Cullen managed to reply, through gritted teeth, and immediately regretted the way it came out. Too harsh. However, what was said was said. Besides, when he thought about it, he had no reason to even try and act polite. This was Hawke, after all. They hadn't parted in exactly friendly terms, not even when he had ultimately rallied the templars against Meredith together with him. Here he was again, trying to reason with himself. Clutching his forehead, he could feel a headache coming up.

Maybe some other Rutherford than him had done ill to an Amell in the past, because this? This was just a cruel joke on the Maker's part. Two people from the Amell lineage could not be in Skyhold right now, that was a sheer impossibility. And, maybe worst of all, Hawke truly was the one Varric had meant when he'd said that he had a confidant, meaning he had known where he was all along, and lied to Cassandra. This meant that whatever the dwarf did, even if he ran away, he would have to face the Seeker's wrath sooner than later. Hopefully sooner for sake of Cullen's sanity. She was already upset with him, so this would only add fuel to the fire. He didn't know if he pitied Varric or wanted him to face the consequences of his lies.

“So, it's _Commander_ Curly now? I guess congratulations are in order. Although, you were Knight Commander for a short time, were you not?” Hawke started, eyes sizing him up, going from his head to his fur pauldrons to his hand resting on his sword's hilt. Satisfied, he leaned on the desk again, as if _he_ owned it, and folded his arms over his chest. “Curly is not right anymore though. Your hair used to be like a basket of Antivan cuisine and now it's all sleek and wavy. What have you done with it, and do you have any recommendations for mine?”

Hawke ended his little rant by running his hand through his already perfectly straight hair. Bastard. Well, he definitely did not pity the dwarf, not anymore. In fact, Cassandra could castrate Varric for all he cared now. He had forgotten how taxing Hawke could be, and it seemed like Hawke didn't want him to forget either. This, if anything, explained Cullen's behavior towards him.

“What are you doing here? When did you sneak into the Hold?” Into my office, he wanted to add, but fumed at Hawke instead. In response Hawke made a face, as if his feelings had been deeply hurt.

“Why, I'm a guest here. As for you, I'm greeting an old friend, that's all. It's only polite. _You_ seem less than friendly though. So much for our shared history, it seems.”

“You really feel the need to ask why there's hostility between us?” retorted Cullen. Hawke pursed his lips, his constant smile (more like infuriating smirk) dying on his lips, and he almost looked like he had been slapped. The name Anders was unspoken, but they both knew that it was him and his actions Cullen meant. Before what transpired in Kirkwall that day due to him, Cullen had not held anything against Hawke personally. 

Hawke recovered in record time though, and as if not at all phased by the jab, his smile returned to his face, this time as cold as the mountains surrounding Skyhold.

“Oh? Anders, as in everyone's favorite scapegoat for being the single person responsible for starting the rebellion, as there were no other reasons for the mages to rebel, after all. No centuries of abuse in the Circles. Yes, it was _alllll_ Anders' fault. That darned abomination!” He shook his fist for good measure, and then settled for a hard glare. “What a guy, right, Messere Knight-Commander? Sorry, _just_ Commander.”

Cullen's temper flared. “That's not what I –“

“You're really going to go with that?” Hawke leaned back, eyebrows raised, but even then, he seemed aggressive. “Because you're one of the Maker's chosen flock, right? You couldn't do anything wrong in your life. His grace shines from your _asshole_.”

He looked proud of that quip. It only served to make Cullen even more upset, his head pounding and vision starting to blur, and he wasn't sure if it was from rage or just his need for lyrium kicking in again. The gall this man had was endless! Hawke wasn't finished though. “That's why you're in this Inquisition, probably. Because otherwise they would get it wrong.”

Cullen was taken aback, but not so much as to render him speechless.

“Because blowing up a Chantry is so much better? If what you're saying is true, those innocent lives were lost for nothing! The rebellion would've happened in any case, with or without a catalyst! And don't act like you've never done anything wrong in your life.” He took a step closer to Hawke, and nearly prodded his chest with a finger. “There were mages in the Gallows who despised you as well, do not forget that. Remember, Hawke, there was a time when you were almost just as bad as any of us out there!”

Hawke simply shoved his arm away, looking like he wanted to start a fight, but he held himself back, and the sound of heavy breathing filled the room, as the men glared at each other. This gave Cullen some space to try and think things over his pounding headache. He was not acting like himself. That, or he was acting too much like himself. Hawke's glare was unyielding though, as if he had a point to prove. The first to look away was Cullen, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. They were both upset, and they both needed to calm down. He had said too much, and nothing that reflected the philosophies he held in the present. Why was he so keen on defending himself now? Every night he lay awake, thinking of all the things he'd done wrong in his life, the faces of the mages he could've tried to save, berating himself, yet _now_ his pride got the best of him?

“... I am a hypocrite.” he said, this time out loud. He looked up, to find Hawke looking at him like he'd just grown horns and stated he'd been a Qunari spy all along. Well, he might as well spit it all out while he was at it. “I am perfectly aware that what I've turned a blind eye to – No, what I've been a part of in the past – And I can now see that it was wrong. Mages _are_ people. Have always been people.”

Not just vessels waiting for a demon to possess them. Not here to harm anyone. Those who were, were it at Kinloch Hold or in the Gallows or the rebels who had terrorized innocents, those were the exception. Mages like Amell or Senior Enchanter Wynne who had aided the Hero of Ferelden, or kind Bethany Hawke, or Maker forbid, children, they had nothing to do with it. Even the less talented mages were not at fault. Yet he had called for the annulment of both of the Circles, when push came to shove, thinking that it was the last option, Andraste have mercy on his soul for his past foolishness. It was insanity.

“However, do not think for a minute I could've done anything if I had been of this mind while I was still a templar. Meredith would've replaced me, simple as that. I would be just another templar exiled from the Order, begging for coin or working for the carta to get any form of lyrium to live another miserable day with half of my sanity intact.” he continued.

He would've been just another Samson, and look where that led the once kind man? Not that he'd ever been half the man Samson had been when he was a templar. Maker, if fate had deemed his path to be different, he... This was exactly the thing he shouldn't think about. He was here now. He had not become a puppet to Corypheus and his red lyrium.

Hawke looked him dead in the eye, and he could see that his words were falling to empty ears. This was the first time he'd ever spoken to another human being about his regrets, and this was the reception? Just a cold, calculating stare? Well, all these were were just pretty words to Hawke. He had every right to doubt his sincerity, after the earlier outburst.

“Bah, to the Void with it. I have nothing but excuses to defend myself with, anyway.” Cullen said, throwing his hands in the air. He'd known all along that talking would never help. Just as he though that, he felt tears sting his eyes. Damn it, damn it _all_ , not in front of Hawke of all people. He turned away from him, trying to calm himself by breathing, as he usually did. In and out, in and out. However, Hawke's eyes burned the back of his head. It seemed like unyielding eye contact was another trait he shared with Amell. It felt like an eternity passed before Hawke spoke again.

“... Shit, Cullen. You're a mess.”

Cullen laughed bleakly at that. In and out. It was not what he had been expecting at all. He was glad he hadn't seen Hawke's expression when he said that. He wasn't sure if he could take that amount of pity from Hawke _._

“And here I was hoping you wouldn't notice.”

It was Hawke's turn to laugh. Cullen pulled out a stool for himself to sit in, and sunk his head into his hands. Hawke was right, of course. This was a fine state he was in. He should've just let him fully resent himself in peace, and been done with this. Judging from the sounds, Hawke sat on the table once again. Cullen peered at him from behind his hands, having finally calmed down a little, and saw Hawke still staring at him.

“This conversation is over. Don't you have anywhere else you're supposed to be?” he asked, and Hawke shrugged, noncommittally. It was obvious that this was not his true destination anyway. He was probably contemplating the best way to humiliate him right now. Probably publicly out him. “What are you still doing here? I have work to do.”

But Hawke grinned, smugly, and pointed at him.

“That doesn't look like working.”

This infuriating...! Cullen finally raised his head, only to glare at Hawke.

“That's because you're occupying my work space!” Cullen said through gritted teeth. Immediately he regretted whipping his head up, as the sudden movement made him dizzy. Today's headache would be the worst yet, he was sure of it. 

And look, out of the corner of his eye he saw the ghost of Amell again, sending him a pitying look, disappearing just as he tried to look closer, to see if she'd changed to match the Amell from now. As if that was what he even needed to focus on right now.

“Anyway, now that we've gotten that out of our system, and confirmed that you're a sad, sad man, in need of comfort, why don't we hit the tavern? Varric says that it can't compare to the Hanged Man, but our options are pretty limited here.”

Cullen wanted to laugh again, but couldn't find it in himself to actually do so. Hawke had despised him just moments ago. What was with this sudden friendliness? Maker was he a hard man to read.

“That, or a game of Wicked Grace with Varric would provide for a nice distraction from all this. Should we invite him over? Do we just use one of your guards? They're pretty rude, you know, they just go through this room on their patrols, I was afraid they'd ruin my element of surprise. The nerve, really. Aveline would never stand for this kind of behavior.”

Cullen groaned. Maker preserve him. Would this nightmare ever end?

 

* * *

 

Lady Ambassador Montilyet, or Josephine as she had insisted Alana call her, had indeed been busy, but even then she had managed to set her up in quite the nice barracks, where the Inquisition housed most of its allied mages. Barracks was not the right word for it, perhaps, since she did more or less get her own privacy (it was certainly not the bunk system they'd had in the Tower for apprentices, that was for sure), but nevertheless.

Alana'd sent her clothes to be washed too, and oh, how she'd missed servants, she'd never complain to one, ever again, that was for sure. Not that she still did that. The loss of servants after the incident in the Tower during the Blight had also brought some perspective into her life, and she knew better than to treat anyone harshly, especially when they provided you with a service you yourself didn't care to do. Life was too fleeting for that. However, as nice as having clean clothes was, now all she had were just some spare robes someone had handed her, which looked distinctly Fereldan, which meant that they were the most conservative and garish robes one could find. She'd have to commission herself some proper clothes, ones that fit just her. For now she had to go with whatever the Inquisition could spare.

She'd also managed to do some snooping of her own, and had found a small library hidden away in the basement levels of the Hold, near the kitchens (where she had already managed to offend the cook by barging in) and storage faculties. It was dusty, and full of books not fit for the main library, or maybe just the ones that just didn't fit in there. The library was enormous, even if it didn't actually compare to your average Circle. And it was reaching it's limits fast. Really, it was a marvel how many books the Inquisition had, for having been in operation for such a short time. Although she was quite sure that if her study had managed to find it's way here, it was mostly likely here in the dusty old room, rather than up there with all the Chantry approved tomes. What they did probably have were the books written by the demonologists of Kirkwall, which were just dribble and garbage.

She decided that if the Inquisitor or anyone else did not mind (she supposed that the correct person to ask about this was Josephine once again), she'd settle in here, for her studies. The spot was nice and secluded, and the Inquisitor had said that he'd need her for research as well, so that's what she would do, as it was what she excelled in, more so than in combat. Now that she had seen some of her theories to be actually true (not that _she_ had doubted herself), she had a few ideas how to continue the advancement of studies in possessions.

… Or whatever he wanted her to research. Maybe he was as disinterested in possession as everyone else was, and just wanted them dead like the rest of them. For all she knew, she could spend her time here researching demon bits and claws. She dearly hoped not.

She found herself a servant and requested cleaning equipment from them. They complied, if not a bit confused, but Alana could not ask anyone else to clean for her, as saying that the room was quite messy was an understatement. If she wanted to claim it as her own, she should arrange it to be habitable herself. Now she felt a bit silly about the robes, though. She should've gone somewhere else to loan clothes, it seemed. She tied up the skirt part of the robes, and felt that it would have to be sufficient to grant her mobility (and once again confirmed to herself that robes as mage fashion were part of an ages old conspiracy to have the mages' movement be restricted at all times) and got to work.

However, she'd barely begun to dust the room and rearrange the books when Inquisitor Lavellan popped into the doorway, and got a face full of spiderwebs and other unsavory dirt thrown at him.

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” Alana wailed, dropping her broom, horrified that she'd actually hit someone with her careless dirt disposal. The Inquisitor did not respond, as he was too busy coughing and spluttering. Alana helplessly waited for his fit to be over, unable to come up with a way to relieve him of this pain. Thankfully, not everyone observing the situation was a dunce, and having heard the wheezing, a kind elven kitchen help rushed to the Inquisitor's aid, a jug of water with him. The Inquisitor gratefully took the jug, and heartily drank from in, and splashed his face for good measure too. With one last cough, he handed back the jug to the servant with a brilliant smile, which was ruined by his teary eyes and red, as well as wet, face.

“Ma serannas! I – _Thank you._ You came at just the right time. I saw ravens there for a moment.” he told the young man, still coughing a little into his arm.

“Your Worship.” the young man simply replied, perhaps a bit shyly, and retreated back into the kitchen. The Inquisitor frowned a little, but did not say anything else to him, or indicate in any other way that he was displeased. He wiped his face in his loose shirt. He was dressed in clothes which were probably Dalish, as they reminded Alana of windswept plains and lush thick forests, and he looked much more comfortable in them than in the outfits she had previously seen him in, all leather and stiffness. That, and he wasn't wearing any shoes.

“I must apologize again, Inquisitor. That was careless of me.” Alana said, truly feeling that way. The Inquisitor shook his head, and sniffled.

“No it's – “ Sneeze. “Okay.”

He was incredibly dirty now though, and looking quite pitiful as he pushed red locks of loose hair behind his ears. Alana helped him a little, and dusting his now wet shirt for him, trying to get all the spots there.

“Oh.” she exclaimed, looking at one black spot on him. It wasn't dirt, and was crawling away from her. “There is a spider on your shirt.”

The reaction was immediate. The Inquisitor panicked, and with a yelp he jumped back, but when he realized the shirt was attached to _him_ he threw his shirt off of himself, and stomped it for good measure, until he was sure the spider was dead. Finally he realized that he was not alone, and he looked at Alana, and with all the dignity he had left, he declared, “I've always hated spiders.”

Alana couldn't help herself anymore. She burst into laughter. At first she tried to keep herself at bay, laughed with her mouth shut, through her nose as she did her best to try and stop herself, but to no avail. Her laughter was like a torrent. A silly, unsophisticated torrent of embarrassment for everyone involved. She desperately hoped she wasn't causing a scene, but knew it would be impossible for no one to have noticed them, which her making as much noise as she was. Giggling like a child she doubled over, and didn't stop until she was red in the face as well.

The Inquisitor was decidedly unimpressed. He picked up his shirt, and dusted it a little, to no avail. It was soiled now, as well as wet, so he clearly couldn't put it on. Half naked and slightly ashamed, he glared at her half-heartedly.

“Haa haa. _Ha_. Laugh all you want. The Inquisitor is afraid of spiders. You'd fear them too if you'd lived outside like I've done. There they're almost as big as the halla!”

Alana wiped her eyes, trying to stifle the last of her giggles. She'd been laughing so hard that she was tearing up.

“Those spiders appear anywhere, it's the weakened Veil that makes them grow like that. My Circle had an infestation of them in a storage faculties every other month, after an experiment went wrong and some spiders got loose there. Our seniors made us deal with it more often than we got to do any real work. I've never been afraid of them.” she told him. He frowned even harder at that, but she didn't really mind. Her cheeks and stomach hurt. When was the last time she had even laughed?

“You wouldn't be saying that if one crawled into your bedroll while you were sleeping...” he mumbled in response. Alana had to hide another smile behind her sleeve. She'd finally calmed down, she could not lose composure again this soon.

“Right, right. I wasn't saying that your fears aren't justified. I was just saying that _I_ don't fear them.” He didn't look like he believed her. “Anyway, what is your business here? Did you just come to check on what the commotion was?”

He shook his head.

“I came to find you, like I told you I would, but _now_ I am curious about what you're doing. Why are you cleaning up this old place? I thought people just dumped books that we already had copies of here.” he asked, pointing at the room behind her.

“Ah. I'd like to have it, as my own study of sorts.”

“Study?”

“To research demons, of course. That is what you recruited me for, yes?” She hoped, at least.

The Inquisitor looked puzzled. “You'll need your own study for that? We've got plenty of space... Well, _some_ space in the library. Other researchers are there too, like Helisma, or Minervae.”

Just the kind of environment she wanted to avoid.

“I don't exactly need it, but it's what I prefer. I work the best alone, in any case. Research like mine wasn't popular, you see. Well, I do suppose things are different now, with demons everywhere...” She was getting off topic. “Does this pose a problem?”

She'd really wanted to have this space of her own, but if the Inquisitor didn't approve, that was that. But he smiled.

“I guess not? If you really want to have this room, it's yours.” He gestured with his arms, towards the room, and Alana was so glad she nearly bowed to him in gratitude. She restrained herself, though. It wasn't like he was a king, his state of disrepair made that part evident. He'd probably think she was strange too, if she did anything like that.

“Thank you very much. You shan't be disappointed. You will see that I'm a hard worker.” she thanked him as earnestly as she could. Of course, the best way to show her gratitude would be to turn up useful research. She would get to that as soon as she could. She was brimming with new theories, and with the resources here...

“I'll forget if I don't mention this now, but we'll pay you for all the work you do. Josephine told me to tell you that you have a fixed, uh, salary of sorts. I don't know how these things work. I can ask someone to write you something about this...”

Alana raised her eyebrows at that. This was a pleasant surprise. Circle mages only got a small portion of the funding that went into their projects, but could only use that money on the wares of merchants who braved the Circles. Of course she was going by her own experience. Some mages had lived like nobility, after all, while some had had the little funds they had tightly controlled, the money more of a token of appreciation more than anything else. Some didn't work, hence they did not earn a thing. Most of the monetary gain from commissions and such went to the Chantry and the Circles themselves, from what she understood.

At least as an Enchanter she'd gotten  _something_. The tranquil worked for free. They were legal Chantry approved slaves, disguised as something else entirely. Their works in enchantment and other odd jobs were one of the sources of income for the Chantry rather than the Circle, along with donations. Just thinking about them ruined her good mood. To be exploited like that... She was glad the Chantry was struggling right now.

Even if technically she was working for a Chantry organization right now. Andrastian, at least. She wondered what the Inquisitor thought about this, being Dalish. About being the supposed “Herald of Andraste”. She'd not seen a chapel here, but she was sure one was on the rise, somewhere. But then again, he had not said anything about her foolishness when it came to an important part of his very much lost culture. Maybe he was just flexible?

Surely though, he would not kick her out if she revealed her more... Heretical beliefs. Then again what she'd just thought implied she thought that what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes had been a good thing, by laughing at the Chantry's state of disarray, but even she wasn't as hateful as to think that.

“That's more than what I would've expected. Thank you, again.” She opted to say, trying to not think about the Chantry anymore. That way lie nothing but rage, and she wanted nothing to do with demons right now.

“You're welcome, I guess. I'm getting very cold here, however, so...” he rubbed his arms. Or right, he was shirtless. She'd completely forgotten. She now noticed how lithe he was, how the tattoo on his face ran all the way down to his shoulders (what did the Dalish call it again? She'd have to read up on their culture again, as asking the Inquisitor was out of the question, seemed rude, and it would take up parts of his time unnecessarily) and how his stomach was much paler than his face or his limbs. She'd though he was tan like her, but clearly she was wrong. He was just sun kissed.

When she entered the sun, the only thing she had gained were freckles. Thankfully it wasn't too sunny in Ferelden, so it was barely noticeable, but the additions to her skin had been much of a surprise in Antiva.

“Well, before you leave, what did you want to find me for?” she asked.

“Oh right. Come to the tavern later, after sunset. You know where it is right? I've arranged for everyone to come and meet you there tonight.” He looked thoughtful, and shook his head. “Nearly everyone. I don't think Vivienne will ever set foot to the tavern willingly. But you can go meet her on your own, right? She's from a Circle like yourself.”

At the word “Circle”, a pang of fear ran through her, but even as the name Vivienne rung a bell, there was no way she'd be from Kinloch Hold. She was likely someone important Irving would've liked for her to remember, or someone she'd met while she'd been to another Circle. Besides, there were bound to be people from the Tower here, except if most perished as rebels, which she doubted. It was only a matter of time she met familiar faces, now that she was with the most notorious organization in all of Thedas. Just as long as no one told Irving about where she was, as undoubtedly the old coot was still alive and scheming, she would remain.

Even Cullen was here and – No, she had to stop. She felt uncomfortable just at the mere notion of his name. She'd sworn that she would not think about him, as that would only serve to confuse her more. Ten years later, and their encounter had been all together awkward and unpleasant, so he probably thought so too, and wanted to cease all contact again. It was best to just ignore him, like she'd been able to do until this point. And it had been going so well too. If she wasn't in a social situation right now, she would've outright closed her eyes and winced at the memories she'd rather have forgotten, but the Inquisitor needed to know nothing about this, so she kept herself calm.

“Pardon me for asking, but who is 'everyone'?” she asked. Usually she would've declined an invitation to a social gathering out right, but it would make for a great distraction as she was now.

“Everyone you'll be working with when we go on the front lines together, of course.” he answered.

Did that mean what she thought it meant? Suddenly Alana felt like she'd entered a world she did not quite understand. The fright from earlier and this new bizarre turn nearly made her head spin. Had she accidentally stumbled into the favor of the Inquisitor? Just how had that happened? Front lines meant that she'd be at the heart of the operation no matter what. She'd go as far to say that this was a position some would _kill_ to have, as the power it held seemed to only grow. She wanted to ask him if there was some sort of initiation that she'd passed, anything really, but decided against it. She had impressed him, and that was enough for her.

“Very well.” she spoke, and picked up her broom from where it had fallen on the floor. “I know where it is. I'll see you there, Inquisitor.”

He smiled, and pulled the dirty and damp shirt over his head. It seemed that he wanted to preserve his dignity. Some of it, at least, but she could see how a soiled shirt was better than none. She didn't know where his quarters were, but undoubtedly he had to walk through at least some people to get there.

“We'll talk later, then.” he said, and with no more ceremony, he was gone. Alana got back to work, this time looking out for the door way and any visitors she might accidentally assault this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter the Hawke.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Thank you for all the feedback. It really warms my heart that people seem to like Alana. As always, all comments are appreciated. Enjoy!

Hours later, growing bored of endlessly shuffling around books, Alana deemed herself ready. The study was still a mess, what with all the books that would never fit in the shelves, but at least it wasn't a filthy, dusty mess. She'd done her best, swept and mopped and wiped all the shelves she could reach, but it was simply impossible to find a working system for the tomes and books. Whoever had put them in the shelves had just haphazardly shoved them in, without any regard for what the text entailed or which way the book was supposed to go there, by the looks of it. There was a quirky romance serial's seventh part next to a recipe booklet, which was next to a study about the Fourth Blight presented the wrong way around.

In the end she decided to leave the shelves alone, and opted to shove whatever books were on the floor into a cleaned corner, so that she could sweep and scrub the floor there, but there were so many that she just gave up halfway. She just dusted them with a clean rag and hoped that no mouse had made a nest there. She shuddered at the thought, but comforted herself by thinking that the kitchen surely had cats going in and out of it. Surely, if mice did decide that she should share her abode with them, she could extend that invitation to a cat as well?

Still, all silliness aside, it had to be late enough for whatever introduction the Inquisitor had planned for her to begin sooner than later. She despised being tardy, so she'd rather wait in the tavern for him (them?) than just arrive late.

Grabbing a book on the nature of nugs (for reading at the tavern if necessary, she didn't know how early she would end up there), and deeming her clothes far too dirty for any social gathering (as well as what she now recognized as the classic robes of a Formari, wouldn't that be a swell way to introduce herself? "No, no, I've not suddenly been made tranquil, I just borrowed these."), Alana returned to the barracks first, in search of better clothing. After asking around for more hand-me-downs, she was directed to the the stables by a disgruntled younger teen (who looked far too young to take part in any war, his face was badly splotched with pimples and his attitude something no captain could ever stand), where there were a couple of shops about, one of them about to close, which left her with the other stall, the shopkeeper an undoubtedly Orlesian lady, with her brass mask, an outrageous hat and dress that had a mysteriously clean hem, even as she was standing in the somewhat muddy ground near the stables.

Alana's coin pouch sagged with emptiness, the silvers and coppers there sadly jangling together, but she was sure that she didn't need a an arm and a knee to purchase some simple clothing.

However, her arm and knee would be the last thing for her to worry about, as it turned out the lady was very much a fashionista, and was allergic to Fereldan fashion  _and_  practicality at the same time. As if the dress hadn't been a dead giveaway for that trait from the get go. She didn't know how it came to it, but suddenly they were just about having a fight over which pair of pants she should buy and no, she wasn't here to buy a dress, for the last time! She'd worn enough of long hems to last a lifetime, thank you very much. She had also been unable to haggle the price lower due to the soured mood, and had to probably pay extra because she was hated that much. It was also possible Orlesians did not do such things, which had just added insult to injury. Antivan markets places were what she was most acquainted with anyway, and Antivans had loved to haggle.

The velveteen trousers didn't compliment her hips... Did she look like she cared if her hips looked ravishing or not?

It was already getting dark by the time she was done changing into her new clothes (just a simple long sleeved airy cotton shirt she's tucked into the velveteen pants she'd bought out of spite, and a coat for warmth). She set out for the tavern, and the lights beckoned her to come inside. “The Herald's Rest”, it was called, a name Alana did not know what to think of. At least it was sort of fitting, however tacky it was. She could not see the Inquisitor anywhere, so she just decided to try and soak in the atmosphere. This was the first time she'd entered a tavern for leisure. All the other times she had just been to one to sleep, be it by herself or with a templar escort at her door or sharing her room, depending on the gender.

Music from a single minstrel filled the room, singing about Enchanters and Nightingales, and there were a lot of patrons there, most talking, some laughing (it was early in the evening, so she wasn't expecting anybody to be actually drunk yet), even fewer sending her curious glances, thankfully. If they recognized her, it was undoubtedly from the awful judgement she had to endure. They were right to see her as an oddity after that. There was more than one floor, and the master of the place seemed to be a surly dwarf, who didn't even look up from his spot as she entered, instead focusing on glaring at seemingly nothing and everything at the same time.

A rowdy laughter erupted from her side, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. It was only a group of what had to be guards from somewhere other than the Inquisition, judging by the lack of any eyes on their armor. Alana's guess was probably mercenaries escorting dignitaries or merchants of sorts. They looked quite happily drunk. They saw her staring, and a elven lady (Dalish, judging from her tattoos similar to the Inquisitor's) raised her mug of ale at her with a smile, either beckoning her to come closer or just greeting her to make it clear that she'd seen her staring. Alana declined whatever intentions she'd had by averting her eyes with as much dignity as she could, and moving into any other direction than towards them. Up the stairs seemed to be a safer place to be, and it took all her self control for her not to run all the way up. Laughter followed as she left though. Surely, they were laughing at her.

She suddenly felt awkward, clutching her book closely to her chest. She felt eyes on her, and steeled herself. This was no place for her to be. The whole space, as big as it had been, seemed to be closing in on her, the warmth that had been welcoming when she'd stepped inside suddenly suffocating her. Maybe she could just tell the Inquisitor that something else had come up? Maybe ask the barkeep to relay her message?

“You don't need to be afraid.”

She turned around, tried to look for the person who'd said that, and saw a young man by her side all of a sudden, pale and tall and _strange._ She immediately felt strange around him, he was not normal by any means, and had definitely not been there before, she was sure of of that. She couldn't see his face properly due to the hat he was wearing, it's rim too big (and probably ugly enough to make the merchant lady from before hurl), so she couldn't see what kind of expression he had on right now.

“No one here wants to hurt you, no one barely sees you. You are as invisible as you want to be.” he told her, and Alana couldn't help but stare at him in open wonder. How did he know? She hadn't been that apparent, she was sure of it. She knew that most of the time she was as stony in her facial expressions as a statue, so that couldn't have been it. Had he been watching her from the moment she entered the tavern? If so, why?

“This is a very strange way to initiate a conversation.” she told him in turn, her tone matter of fact, and he fiddled with his hands, face still hidden behind the brim of his hat.

“I thought you only needed to talk to start one.” he said, and looked up at her. He couldn't have been much older than the teen at the barracks, but something about him was unearthly, his eerily blue eyes far away yet intently focused on her, all at the same time. Still, he seemed civil enough, if not a bit socially misguided, or perhaps just the sort who thought differently from the masses. Still, she didn't see any reason to be disturbed by this information. She'd never encountered one who was outright malicious, at least not yet. If he turned out to be that way, she'd just walk away from him. The fact that he'd known her thoughts bore more heavily on her mind.

“I thought you needed to introduce yourself to start one, or announce you're there, at the least. My name is Alana Amell.” she said, leaning against the rail slightly, and added, “I am new to the Inquisition. I mean that literally. I arrived today.”

She looked at him expectantly, and he looked down again, at his hands, which would not stay still, his fingers finding ever changing tiny patterns to follow. “I am Cole. I'm here to help.”

“It's a pleasure, Cole.” Alana replied, finding herself meaning it, even if Cole had barged right into her personal space like he did. It was usually something she hated, but something about him made her not mind too much. If he didn't know he was supposed to introduce himself first, then there was no need to be upset with him.

So, he worked for the Inquisition, too, or “helped” here. There were many hopeful young people, their goal looking out for the world they'd be felt with. He looked into the distance, once again, searched for something Alana could not see, and suddenly, it hit her like a ton of bricks. No wonder he seemed familiar. He reminded her of Sandal, the young dwarven craftsman who'd been to the Tower for a short while, after the Blight! What had become of him? From what she heard from his father, they'd gone to Kirkwall for a new business expedition of sorts, for which they'd left Ferelden in the first place. If only she could remember what the father was called...

“Child of Stone, true and sweet. Enchantment, he says, always enchanted. You don't need to worry about him. He can take care of himself.” Cole said, _immediately_ after Alana'd thought about Sandal, and she balked. He had no way of knowing that. _No way_. What he had said, the _way_ he'd said it, it was like he'd read her mind.

He wasn't only a strange boy, she could see that now. Strange spirit was more like it. She was no stranger to so called “friendly” possession, as she'd met a talking oak tree in the Brecilian Forest, but he was part of the Inquisition, a organization filled with probable zealots and templars, and all sorts of nay sayers to these kinds of beings. Even most mages would not look kindly upon him. Or maybe it was especially mages. And, last but not least, there was a difference between possessing a tree and a living human being. A big one.

“I... Look, this may be rude to ask, but _what_ are you? Have you been possessed?” she asked, and Cole shook his head.

“I am me. I hope I am a spirit. Compassion, caring, I help.”

“ _Hope_ you're a spirit?”

But he was gone, like a whisper from the Fade, like he'd never been there in the first place. At the same time, a big hand appeared on her shoulder from behind, and Alana almost jumped out of her skin. She'd been so engrossed with this Cole that she hadn't heard anyone approach her _._ She cranked her neck to look up behind her, and saw Iron Bull standing there. He really was _enormous_. It was the first she'd seen him since they arrived at Skyhold, and she'd already forgotten how intimidating he looked. Especially confined to a room, he really was a sight to behold. He was also missing a few fingers on his hand, she noticed that now. The life of a mercenary had to be tough.

“Hey, Alana. Seems like you met Cole.” said the Iron Bull, and Alana removed his hand from her shoulder, before she turned to face him. “Weird kid. Varric likes him though.”

“Has anyone told you that it's rude to sneak up on people? Also, I still prefer Amell, if you don't mind.”

Iron Bull made a face at that. They'd talked about this before, on their journey back to Skyhold, but it seemed like he had not taken her request to be called by her last name to heart. It irked her, but as long as he would remember to comply to her wishes, she wouldn't probably have to press this matter too much.

“Right. Amell. Gotcha.” he said, and turned around. “Come on. The Boss just came and the others are down already.”

She followed after him (and noted much to her mortification how he cheerily greeted the same patrons she'd run away from), and was led to a table, where indeed the Inquisitor sat, along with a bunch of other characters. The table was already peppered with tankards and some other sorts of drink, so from the looks of things, these people had been here for a while. She could now see how to mood in the tavern had shifted; no one was spilling their drinks anymore, that was for sure.

Varric was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Solas, but there was an elven girl there, wildly swinging her arms and fists around as she told a story to an older man with a thick black hair and beard, who was howling in laughter at the story, the sound coming straight from his belly. A short haired and well built (and on second glance, beautiful) woman listened in horror, a disgusted grimace on her face, and a fine dark haired man with a trimmed and waxed mustache just shook his head at their antics, looking even more out of place in this tavern than she probably did. Well, she looked out of place because she was apparently visibly uncomfortable. His sense of fashion was something she couldn't really place anywhere, and he looked like he'd just arrived here from somewhere far, far away. Her wild guess? Tevinter. She'd never really seen anyone from there, as they didn't visit Circles often for obvious reasons, but she'd read descriptions.

The Inquisitor had been listening intently too (his eyes so wide the story had to have been something amazing to listen to), but once the Iron Bull lugged himself nearer, he tore his gaze away from the elf, and immediately jumped up from his chair. Alana noted how he's changed his shirt to something darker and more, well, inquisitorial? There were brass buttons all about, and the shirt was fitted to his form, clearly a tailored piece. The contrast to the person she'd seen in the basement was immediately noticeable.

“I found your Amell. Knew I saw her go upstairs.” said Iron Bull, and he sat down on a clearly bigger stool, which had probably been his before he'd come to fetch her. “She met Cole on her own already.”

The elf girl grimaced at that, glaring at the Inquisitor with accusatory eyes.

“What? _It's_ here? I thought you said you didn't invite it.” she said to him, and he shook his head. She was Fereldan, judging by her dialect, so Alana didn't have to strain herself too much to understand it, being somewhat of a native herself. As much as a Circle mage could be the native of any country, of course, but for most of her life she'd lived on Fereldan soil, and there, the Templars were mostly Fereldan. Not like languages had ever been much of a problem for her, as she spoke Orlesian and Antivan along with Common, with the addition of Ancient Tevene and limited Elven, of course, but she digressed.

“I didn't invite Cole, Sera, because I couldn't find _him_. Well, at least he introduced himself. He's somewhat new to us too, like you.” He really stressed on the “him” part, much to the annoyance of the girl – Sera, Alana corrected herself, her name was Sera. The mustached man perked up at this, and addressed Alana.

“You do realize that what you encountered was some sort of a spirit, right?” he asked, leaning towards her on a conversational manner, and Alana nodded. He knew she was a mage, then. You couldn't probably see it from her clothes or demeanor, not without robes, so the Inquisitor must've told them. Well, she was no stranger to being surrounded by people who knew about her while she knew nothing, so this situation did nothing to really phase her. She _was_ starting to feel silly that she hadn't sat down, but no one had invited her to, and the Inquisitor was still up, so she didn't dare to do anything.

“That's what it seems like. He was unsure himself. If there's more in –”

But Sera interrupted her with a loud snort.

“Oh great. You don't talk to demons like they're people!" She emphasized every world like they were all half-wits. "People are people and... _Things_ out of the Fade are just not, okay? Viv is the only one of you who's sane, and she's the biggest _bitch_ in all of ever.” She huffed, like just mentioning this “Viv” brought her to an ever worse mood than mentioning Cole. Alana made the connection to the Vivienne the Inquisitor had spoken of before. “It's another pretty nutter, I swear.”

Sera gave a pointed look to the mustached man, while Alana could only speechlessly blink at her and her rude interruption.

“It's not my fault that I'm unconventional as well as handsome.” he said, frowning at the comment, very much obvious in his theatrics.

“Yeah yeah. You can see we've got too many of these arseholes. You even look like proper twins you do, you can share magic sparkle tips.” Sera continued, wiggling her fingers, her crude language (and probably upbringing) becoming more and more apparent by the minute. Well, it wasn't like Alianages had any mandatory education, like Circles. In fact, she was quite sure human lords discouraged such education. It would probably make any revolts more potent, to have well educated elves leading operations. Then again, most mages could be considered learned, but their rebellion had been chaos, mostly. And this was just her assuming that Sera was from the city anyway. 

Besides, elves should not be her main concern now. All other things aside, had Sera just compared Alana to a _man_? She felt her pride be stung at that comment, but didn't retort, in case it would prompt even more bizarre comments. She did _not_ look like a man. The Circles had had mirrors, so she happened to know she was a very attractive individual, in a distinctly feminine way. What she lacked in the chest department, she made up for with her face, and she had a very lovely face, if she dared to say so herself.

“Well, I need to ask Cole what he prefers.” Alana said in reply, hoping that that answer was neutral enough to get Sera off her back. She silently cleared her throat. “As I am sure you all know, I am Alana Amell. It's a pleasure to meet you all. I believe we'll all be working together?”

She looked at the Inquisitor, and he nodded, smiling. Suddenly he seemed to realize that they were both still standing up, and he motioned for her to take a seat, slapping his forehead in a embarrassment in the progress. “Sit down already! We look like fools standing up!”

Alana sat down between Iron Bull and the impressive looking woman, relieved that this part of the social initiation was over, and set her book on the table, not knowing where else to place it. Iron Bull gave it a quick glance, but did not comment on it's contents, thankfully. She was now starting to realize that maybe she should've grabbed something more respectable, like a book about the Blight or anything else, really.

They ordered more drinks and food (the drinks were awful muck, the food was not), and she was introduced to each member present as of now. Sera was Sera, a "Red Jenny" who'd come here to work for the “people”. Another faction she'd have to look up. Dorian Pavus was the name of the fashionable man. He was a Tevinter mage and noble as well a scholar, as his second comment to her was “I read your study, fascinating work”. The other human male of the group was a seemingly gruff Grey Warden named Blackwall (just that, oddly enough, but she preferred to go by Amell too, so she didn't inquire about what was none of her business anyway), and the last woman was the former Right Hand of Divine Justinia and Chantry Seeker, Cassandra Penthagast, and Alana didn't need to look twice to see that they were both warriors not to be meddled with, just like Iron Bull.

Alana was spared a detailed introduction of her own, thankfully. She'd rather not have gone over her whole history right now. Or, well, ever, as a matter of fact. She wasn't even sure how she was supposed to become part of a tightly knit group like this, outside of a superficial and professional level. It was obvious they'd shared so much, gone through trials and tribulations together, so it wasn't even likely any of these people wanted to befriend her too closely either. She should just give up while she was at it, because as the evening went on, it became more and more apparent how much of a stranger she truly was. The conversation flowed without her, and she only listened in silence for the most part as they talked about events that had already passed or just idly about anything. Of course, this was just another thing she was already accustomed to, so it didn't phase her too much. She was quite sure she hadn't had a real friend ever since she passed her Harrowing.

“So, what can you do as an 'Arcane Warrior', exactly?” asked Dorian, after they were nearly done with their food, pointing his fork at her like it wasn't bad manners to do so. “It can't be exactly like how it is with Knight-Enchanters, now can it?”

Alana wiped her mouth, trying to catch any remainders of food that might've been there, and shook her head. She hadn't really expected to be talked to at all anymore during this evening. “It's not. I've never studied Knight-Enchanters properly, but in the theory of – “

She stopped herself before she could continue with her analysis. Everyone was listening, and while she was sure Dorian was well equipped with knowledge about magical theory, none of the others were. Well, as a Seeker Cassandra would have to be as well, but even then she was sure that no one here wanted a full blown discussion on the nature of the arcane and the relation of the Veil to casting spells at the likes of it. As she'd have to explain way more than necessary, and make this into a lecture if she really wanted to go into detail, she prompted to go for a more simple explanation. It was what all of her brief apprentices had enjoyed more, at the least. Maybe she'd give Dorian her notes later.

“Well, Knight-Enchanters are called battlemages for a reason. It the end, they function just like normal mages. Let's see...” What was the best way to demonstrate this? She looked around, and her eye caught the sight of Sera eating (how was she still eating, she'd consumed more food than any of them and she was still going at it!), not really paying much attention to what she was saying, and got an idea. “Normally, a mage would bend a spoon like this.”

Alana lifted up her spoon for all to see, and with her magic she bent it, earning an eye roll and a jeer from Sera, which she could not decipher as Sera's mouth was full of potatoes at the moment.

“It's telekinesis. Normally, if most of you bent it, you'd just use your hands.”

She bent it back with both her hands, even though with magic she could've smoothed out the groove. She hoped the serving girls here wouldn't see, so that she wouldn't be thrown out or anything like that. The kitchen staff at the Tower had always became very upset when apprentices tried bending all the kitchen utensils, but there they had to tolerate them. Here? Not so much.

“As an Arcane Warrior, it's a combination of both magic _and_ might.” She took the spoon into one hand again, holding it by the actual spoon part, and she weaved the magic into herself. This time, she simply pushed the handle down with her thumb, a task for which she'd needed both of her hands before. For an added effect, she crumpled the spoon inside her hand like it were a piece of parchment, earning herself a whistle from the Inquisitor, and probably a bruise in her palm tomorrow. She made a mental note to add a barrier the next time she did something like this. “I make my magical prowess into actual physical strength. That's essentially it.”

Then she returned the spoon to it's original form, just to be courteous, and looked expectantly at Dorian, hoping for him to be satisfied by the explanation as well.

“So you can break a spoon in three ways now. Fascinating, really.” he said, looking smug at he said this. Alana wasn't sure if he was just mocking her presentation because he already understood the principle, because he'd thought it was childish and stupid, or because it was just in his nature to mock everything. Either way, he was not going to see her notes after all. What was she supposed to have done to explain this to please him, personally? Sera, who'd looked somewhat theatrically uninterested during all this talk or magic, laughed at his quip, sounding unhinged as she did so.

“Oooooh, that's a good one! Mighty breaker of spoons, yeah?” she said in between new bouts of laughter, and Alana had to resist shaking her head. The woman called Cassandra frowned, almost looking displeased. Whether it was her explanation or the mockery she faced from her, Alana did not know, but she still made eye contact with her, hoping that she would speak up with her thoughts, and she did.

“That still doesn't explain it all. How can – Commander?“

She stopped whatever she was about to say on her tracks, and Alana didn't even have to wonder why, because when she turned around to look at what had caught Cassandra's attention, she saw Cullen approaching them, walking very briskly, his eyes fixed on the Inquisitor before briefly flickering over her, then back to him again. For the same heartbeat her chest clenched in panic, but the feeling went away as quickly as it came. Had Cullen been invited too? If so, what was she to do? If he was here on invitation, then she simply couldn't leave, but if not then how suspicious would it be if she left just as he came? But if they were forced into a social situation together again, then surely things would get wholly awkward. She did not want to feel this uncomfortable, and she was sure Cullen shared her exact sentiments. But it was already too late, Cullen had reached the table, so whatever came would come to pass, and that was that.

“Cullen? Don't tell me you actually came to spend time with us?” asked the Inquisitor, sounding just as puzzled as Alana felt, but Cullen shook his head. He was standing behind Sera, so not too close to her, but Alana could already feel anxiety bubble in her throat again. He was decidedly looking anywhere but her way, wasn't he?

“I'm afraid I have wasted enough time already. I came for you, Inquisitor. Varric's _guest_ has arrived, and I do _not_ wish to entertain him any further.” Cullen said, and he did sound a bit agitated, and like he was in a hurry.

“So that's where Varric went! I wondered why he hadn't shown up, he usually never misses a night at the tavern with us.” The Inquisitor exclaimed, beaming at the revelation. “Why did he come to you first? Did he come just now?”

“No, earlier. _Much_ earlier. Apparently he saw fit to... Catch up with me first.” Cullen could barely contain the distaste in his tone now. For the second time he glanced Alana's way, but this time it was apparent it wasn't her he was looking at, and maybe he hadn't been looking at her to begin with, because she now noticed just what was occurring next to her. Cassandra's first were clenched into tight balls, her scarred knuckles white from the force of it, and her eyes were narrowed into slits. She was silent, but even as a stranger Alana could see that she was seething with rage. Was it the... Well, “mystery guest” or Varric she was upset with? Surely it wasn't Cullen? Alana would've liked to give her space, but as Iron Bull was a wall of qunari bulk on her other side, she couldn't really move more to his side without intruding upon his personal space even more than she was now. Quite the predicament. She hoped Cassandra wouldn't do something rash, like flip the table. She certainly seemed more than capable of doing so at the moment.

“Anyway. I suggest we leave now. The sooner this is dealt with the better.” Cullen said, and the Inquisitor nodded. So basically what he meant was that the Inquisitor should take this guest off of his hands. Fair enough, Alana supposed.

“Seems like I need to go. Not like I can ever go a day without doing something important.” he joked, while grinning at everyone. Wishing everyone a good rest of the night the Inquisitor left with Cullen thankfully in tow, and Alana saw this as her opportunity to take her leave as well.

“I should turn in for the night too. I've barely had rest, as it is.” she said, and prepared to take her leave, if not for Cassandra getting up next to her, her chair clattering as she stood up abruptly, and Alana nearly winced, reminding herself to never upset this woman, ever. It seemed to forebode a bad time for anyone who'd incurred her wrath.

“I should go.” she said, simply, and had stormed out of the tavern before anyone could bid her goodbye. Their whole table quieted after that, and everyone began to decidedly look away from the spot Cassandra had been in.

“Oooh, Varric's gonna get it when she catches him.” Sera giggled, the first to break the silence, hiding quite the malicious grin behind her hand. Alana couldn't help herself anymore. It was quite clear she was the only one who didn't know why Cassandra was upset, and she was starting to get annoyed of that fact.

“So, quite obviously, the guest is Serah Hawke. Why does this upset the Lady Seeker so much?” she asked. There was more amused giggling from Sera, but everyone else remained more neutral, probably more than taken aback by Cassandra's abrupt exit.

“Well...” Iron Bull started. “She interrogated Varric before, and he wasn't supposed to know where Hawke was. That's the story he told to the Seeker, and now she's pissed. You shouldn't fret it, Alana. Let it pass on its own, and don't bring it up near Cassandra, and we should all be good.”

Alana supposed she could understand, but Cassandra's reaction was still a bit extreme. Also, “Alana _”_? Again? Had they not discussed this enough already? What was so hard about using her last name? What was she supposed to do, just give up, and let him call her whatever? She couldn't call him out on it now, not when surrounded by other people, but she just couldn't let him have his way like this.

“I'm personally waiting for them to announce their passionate love for each other. I've already chosen my clothes for the spring wedding.” stated Dorian, completely deadpan, deeming his commentary to be done by sipping at his ale like it was the finest of wines. Everyone except for Alana erupted in the heartiest of laughter at his comment, and she saw how it was funny. In romance serials, all of which had been ludicrously popular in Circles, initial hate always led to a passionate love affair. None of them had ever reached the level of rage Cassandra had for poor Varric, though. She had seen rage demons more calm than her. If there was a romance to be had here, it was going to be one that started with a whole lot of bruises, and she wasn't sure if she condoned that.

And before she knew it Alana had been swept up in another round of drinks which she couldn't even drink due to the questionable taste from before flaring on her tastebuds, unable to find a good opportunity to leave again. Trapped in a social situation she didn't really want to be in, she was starting to feel miserable. Maybe she should've just told them how she hadn't slept in a bed in a year, and was desperately yearning for the one waiting for her right now?

She just wanted to rest. Could this day just end already? 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I've had the biggest writers block ever, but I squeezed this out of myself so might as well post it.

Cullen felt like he'd been demoted to an errand boy.

“You should use one of your handy messengers to call on Varric, Cullen,” had quickly turned into “Could they get us more ale,” and finally “Can you go fetch us the Inquisitor from the tavern, Curly?”. Now he was running around, conducting business that, frankly, he wasn't even supposed to be part of. Well, it was all the better for him that he had gotten Lavellan, because now he would be rid of Hawke. As one positive thing needed to happen today, for the sake of his sanity, he had been able to move the talks from his quarters to the east tower, thank the Maker for small miracles. As he led the Inquisitor there, the only thing he could look forward to was that soon, this day would finally be over.

… If not for the reports that needed his urgent attention, that was. They lie in an unorganized pile on the floor, when Hawke quite rudely cleared space for their game. His vision swam, and he knew this wasn't just the minimal alcohol he'd drunk. He'd be a fool to be under that pretense, after all these times he'd gone through this, after how bad the day had been in general. He'd probably have to try to catch a few hours of sleep, if he could manage even that. Most likely he’d be unable to sleep at all, if he had nightmares, which was more than likely, as this day could only get worse. His mind wandered to Amell, who really was in Skyhold and to whom Cullen needed to speak as soon as possible before his head actually split apart in an attempt to spill it all and Maker, he needed help. He had far more grave matters to worry about than her.

“How are you, Cullen?” Lavellan suddenly asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“What?” Cullen looked down at the man on the steps below him, somewhat alarmed by the unexpected inquiry. Hopefully he hadn't been trying to talk to Cullen for a long time, while he was lost in his thoughts. Lavellan stopped on his tracks, and with his brow furrowed he looked Cullen over, lingering on his face, and Cullen felt uncomfortable in his skin, as appearing disheveled in front of the Inquisitor was the one thing he’d tried not to do. Well, him and the troops. It was bad on morale if the commander wasn’t right in the head. He’d know.

“You don't seem too well tonight. Something troubling you?” Lavellan asked. Truthfully, Cullen was taken aback that he had even noticed that something was the matter with him. For all he knew, Cullen could just be upset.

He hadn't talked to Lavellan about the lyrium yet. He was going to, as it was not his place to keep secrets from the Inquisitor, but this was hardly the time and place for it. He had much more important things to occupy his thoughts, with the fledgeling Inquisition still so fragile in it's position, even with their ever growing power. Then again, after a day like this, maybe he was showing all the tell tale signs of a lyrium addict. Sunken eyes, sweaty brow, shaking hands... It was more than likely. He wondered if there was still something left for him to drink, or if Hawke and Varric had consumed everything before they'd left. He might need something stronger than a man to knock himself out.

“It has been a long day, and my patience has been tested more than once.” Cullen said in reply carefully, even though it was an understatement of what he felt like right now. If it was patience, he had none left whatsoever. The next person to try it would find themselves in a situation he'd only wish upon his worst enemy. Lavellan, although most likely skeptical, left it at that, thankfully. They continued up the stairs in silence, and Cullen took this moment to take in the cold air of Skyhold in deep breaths, feeling the effects calm him ever so slightly, force him to be more awake and aware. But, even as he did so, his face felt hot all over, right down to his neck, and there was a persistent throbbing pain in his head, which he knew would only worsen as the night went on.

“Amell seems nice.” Lavellan suddenly said, and Cullen nearly tripped in surprise. He had not been expecting that. So much for peace. He tried to come up with what to say next, but his brain wouldn't cooperate with his mouth, and he was left speechless. Lavellan's comment seemed innocent enough, but Cullen knew that it was surely a loaded one, if his previous modus operandi was anything to go by. Lavellan was what you'd call a wolf in sheep's clothing. “Inquisitor” was more than a fitting title for him. You thought the conversation was casual, and the next thing you knew he'd suddenly pried your life story out of you. Not that Cullen usually minded but, now, he most certainly did.

“She is.” Was all he could muster in reply, thankfully able to say so while remaining civil. But, even as Lavellan hummed in response, seemingly satisfied with his answer, Cullen knew that he'd probably given the wrong impression about his and Amell's relationship from before, just by acting foolishly out of character. The way he'd come to the gates barely paying attention to anyone but her didn't help. He tried to think of what he'd said about his time at the Circle Tower to Lavellan before, but couldn't remember a thing. Surely he hadn't mused about any old flame? As vague as he usually tried to be, if he'd said something like that, Lavellan would be able to put two and two together, and... Well, he didn't know what would happen, be he knew he didn’t want to be teased about an infatuation from ten years ago endlessly, and he most certainly did not want this to reach Amell as well. She'd acted like she’d done before for now, but surely she despised him too, just like most mages here did. Cullen felt his heart clench at the thought. She’d always been very good at hiding any sort of disdain, hadn’t she?

“Like I said, we used to know each other, that's all. Do not misunderstand my intentions in any way.”

Lavellan smirked. “Oh? But there have been _intentions_ , have there, Commander?”

Curse him and his big mouth. He must've said something before, he was sure of it now. It was as if people just _knew_ things they shouldn't, which made no sense.

Except, it did, if the Tale of the Champion held the information it did. Once again, that damned book came back to haunt him. Of course to be sure of this he’d actually have to read the book, if he ever found the time in his busy schedule. Now he was quite sure he had to read at least this particular part, lest his possibly documented actions haunt him forever. And even if Lavellan hadn’t had the time to read it either or the scene hadn’t been in the book, Varric was certainly enough of a gossip to blabber about the exchange to everyone he knew, probably bloating the story tenfold.

Cullen's whole face flushed, partially with embarrassment, partially with anger. Once he had his confirmation, Varric would hear from him for certain. He nearly fumbled with his step again, but this time he caught himself before doing so, and continued on, without even turning to look at Lavellan this time.

“None whatsoever, Inquisitor.” he said curtly, hoping to end this line of questioning. Miraculously, it did, but no thanks to himself. They reached the tower, Varric waiting for them outside. He cheerily waved at Lavellan as they approached, and Cullen wondered how calm he'd be able to remain if he knew how enraged Cassandra had been just now. Probably terrified for his life, Cullen mused, finding satisfaction in the thought. Just looking at Cassandra's barely contained rage, Cullen had felt a tinge of fear himself, and he'd worked for Meredith for years without fearing for his life… Often, that was. With the combination of Amell being there, probably judging his performance harshly, he certainly felt like he’d been right back at the Circle. Templar gets told off by their superiors, mages ridicule them in secret. The circle goes on.

Varric and Lavellan discussed something Cullen couldn’t bother to focus on, and it didn't take long for Hawke to hear his name and walk into the conversation, his entrance so dramatic Cullen couldn't help but scoff. After short introductions the Champion and the Inquisitor walked into the tower to talk about serious matters in private, and Cullen was about to retreat, his work here done, but Varric came up to him, clearly looking to start something.

“Did you happen to see if a certain Alana Amell was down at the tavern? You know? The new mage, came with the Inquisitor?” Varric asked. Of course it was about Amell. Varric was surely looking to mock him as well, and Cullen saw red.

“What is it to you?” he snapped back at him, unable to help the sneer that took over his face.

”Hey,” Varric raised his arms in defense, clearly sensing the shift in the mood, as if Cullen had just raised his weapon at him, and he continued, ”No need to get angry at me. I was just trying to ask you a simple question…”

If he was speaking the truth, he did have a point, but Cullen wasn’t certain of his innocence at all. He narrowed his eyes, but couldn’t find a reason not to answer him.

”Fine. She was there, with the others.” he answered. Varric smirked.

”See, was that so hard? You can be friendly and helpful if you try hard enough!” he told him, the smarmy bastard, as if Cullen hadn’t been anything but helpful today, and when Cullen ignored him and started to make his way back, Varric followed him, just a step behind. Before Cullen turned around to yell at him again, he realized that he was probably on his way to the tavern, so he stayed his tongue, and endured the other’s company for just a while longer. They nearly reached the point they’d go their separate ways in silence until Varric broke it, because of course he did. ”Wait a moment. Before you turn in for the night, there’s something that I need to tell you.”

Cullen, tired of these ”moments” as he was, still turned around to face him. Varric placed his hand on his elbow, a seemingly friendly gesture to anyone observing, but Cullen tensed. Maybe it was the lighting, a single torch on the wall casting shadows, but Varric, he looked older than usual for just that moment. With Hawke he had been like the dwarf Cullen remembered from Kirkwall during their glory days, when the Champion had not been so infamous. Now all he saw was a world weary, downtrodden man, all the relief and joy that had previously radiated from him, gone in a flash. He wondered if he'd looked like this all the time with the Inquisition, and how he hadn't noticed before.

"You know I'll personally put a crossbow bolt through your head if anything happens to Hawke." he said, meeting Cullen's eyes. Varric had sounded very casual as he said that, like he was commenting on the color of the sky, but Cullen could tell he was dead serious. He felt in in the way the grip on his arm tightened, saw it in the sharpness of his gaze. "Nothing personal,  _Curly_. That's just how it is. I didn't invite him here to die."

The playful nickname felt like a taunt, like Varric was telling Cullen to say anything back if he dared, and he was about to do just that, because there was simply no way he'd take something like _this,_ something not even within his power standing down any longer, but people noisily leaving the tavern caught his attention instead, and he stayed his tongue. He could not do this in front of just anyone. What if they were his soldiers? He and Varric both turned to the noise, and it was just the Chargers exiting, but on second glance, Amell was trailing behind them, exiting at the same time but not part of the same group. Cullen nearly expected her to look up and see them, but she was too occupied with shielding herself from the cold night air of Skyhold to do such a thing.

Varric let go of him, and shook his head. ”Well, this is where we part ways. You better try to catch some shut eye, Curly. No offense, but you look like shit.”

He was halfway down the stairs before Cullen could even try and retort to any of the things he’d said. Fine, let him have the last word! He was most likely right about the last part, anyway. He sighed in frustration, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck furiously before smoothing the spot, the dull ache not really doing anything to soothe any sort of anger but appeasing to some sort of primal urge of his to throttle something (or someone), and with a last glare at the dwarf approaching Amell, waving at her merrily in an attempt to catch her attention, he proceeded to continue on his way through the battlements.

Or well, he was about to, until he opened the door to the guard tower and saw glimpses of pale buttocks between legs swinging in the air, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. It took him half a second, before he recoiled in disgust and surprise, covering his eyes.

”Maker’s breath! Find a room that’s private!” he yelled, and quickly slammed the door shut. He heard no reply, and backed away from the door. They probably hadn’t even noticed him. That was the way it had gone in the barracks. If his face hadn’t been red before, it certainly was now, and he couldn’t help but laugh breathily at the absurdity of the situation, but his head throbbed, so he stopped. The stairs it was, then. The stairs Amell and Varric were all but blocking at the bottom. He sighed again, this time resigned. Oh well, might as well spy on what business Varric had with Amell, while he was at it. Not like he hadn’t been curious.

They noticed him as he approached, Amell first, her eyes flashing with recognition, which prompted Varric to turn around.

”Well, this is a surprise!” he said, ”Didn’t think you’d stoop down to our level once again.”

Cullen almost didn’t take to the taunt, but he found the situation too irresistible to not make a snide comment of his own.

”I’d need to crouch to actually do that.” he said, but Varric only raised his eyebrows and shrugged, and didn’t seem outraged at all, still smiling at him. What a disappointingly lackluster reaction. Well, it was likely something he’d heard often. Cullen cleared his throat. ”The way was blocked. That and I need to station guards at the towers closest to the tavern…” Cullen continued, drifting off, but Varric caught onto what he meant, and laughed a little, as if he had been joking and not completely serious. He had no such luck with Amell, who was decidedly unaffected by his words, just staring at him unimpressed. Maker, no wonder! He hadn’t even greeted her!

”Good evening. Or well, night…” he said to her, not really knowing what more to say. He felt that right now it would’ve been inappropriate to speak more, ask her how she’d liked her time here or something along those lines, especially after what his previous uncouth comments. He should’ve greeted her first from the get go, not made lackluster bantered with Varric. 

He peered quickly at the dwarf, but did not find him looking his way. Good. The last thing he wanted was for the dwarf to get any more bizarre thoughts. He was the last person who needed to know anything more when it came to Cullen, even if the moment occurring right now was virtually nothing in the grand scheme of things. Through Varric it would become another weep story, found in a book of his, ridiculed by critics everywhere. He could just imagine it. What a limp noodle of a protagonist! Is this was romance has come to? Of course there was nothing even remotely romantic going on here. If Varric wanted romance, he could peek into the room with the lovers up above.

”Likewise.” she replied. That was all she had to say to him, and she turned back to her previous conversation partner, who was happy to oblige her.

”As I was about to say, Doe, I'd like you to come with me and meet someone very near and dear to my heart." Varric said, placing his hand over his chest with a exaggerated sappy expression, but Amell didn't really seem interested at his not so surprise guest. What caught her attention was "doe". At the word her eyebrows shot up, and she looked at Varric wide eyed, like he was a mad man and he'd just suggested Amell dance naked in the moonlight with him. No, no, that was a foolish train of thought, as Cullen was reminded of the pale buttocks from before.

As well as wanting to smack himself now, Cullen wanted to smack the dwarf upside down his head too, because what kind of nickname was Doe, anyway? It was worse than Curly, and at least that was based in reality. Amell's made her seem like everything she wasn't, a vapid beast to be hunted down, wide eyed, weak. He was sure it was not Varric's intention to invoke such feelings, as his nicknames probably just came from whatever he felt like at that moment, but she was  _nothing_  like that.

"Did you just... Call me Doe?" she asked, obviously flabbergasted in the way she stumbled with her words, and Varric shrugged.

"It's what I do. Don't fight it, it's gonna stick anyway. Just come along." he said, mischievous glint in his eye, and Amell was about to interject with something else but he just continued up the steps to the battlements past Cullen, ignoring whatever protests she had planned to voice, motioning for her to follow.

Amell frowned at his back, but after a moment, she followed him anyway, without even saying goodbye to Cullen, just curtly nodding at him before passing by. Neither of them did, really. He didn't count Varric's wink over the shoulder as anything but him trying to provoke Cullen to see if he would throw him out of Skyhold, along with his precious Hawke.

Instead of following after them or going along with the threat he'd made in his head, he decided that now was finally his time to turn in for the night. He'd have to befilled in about what Hawke had told Lavellan tomorrow, if he'd ended up being able to give out any useful information. Somehow, he doubted it. The mage-templar conflict, while still not all together solved – not with the Chantry's chain of command still as woefully broken as it was, not with the templars gone, not without the Circles, he felt his hair greying just at the thought of it – was at a moot point. Even if Varric had said he would be able to help, he didn't know what else Hawke could give them insight in, as Hawke had not wanted to part with that information during their two player game of Wicked Grace. ”I don’t mix business with pleasure, Curly” was a phase what would forever induce rage within him, especially as the whole game had been an experience he would not like to repeat, if he could. Hawke cheated worse than anyone he'd ever played with, and he'd played a lot of Wicked Grace when he was younger, during his training, even if it was not something condoned by the Chantry. He was quite sure that even the likes of Sera would be tamer than Hawke. 

Noticing he’d been caught up in his thoughts again, Cullen gave Amell and Varric one last glance, noticeable in the darkness only due to the top of Varric's blonde head, but when Amell seemed to turn around and walk towards him, he decided that now was the moment to return to his quarters, shaking his head. It wasn’t really her, after all.

He truly pitied Amell at this moment. She'd have quite the handful to deal with, for the rest of the night. By the end of it, she'd probably prefer even his company to the duo of Hawke and Varric. 

 

* * *

 

It didn't take a genius to realize whom Varric wanted Alana to meet, but she still felt a bit nervous as they approached their destination. Even with the stars and the moons the sky was like a vast, empty chasm above her, and she could barely see in the darkness. It was easy to see why some dwarves feared they'd fall into it, because when she looked up, she felt a pull as well. The ominous green tear of the Breach did not help with this feeling at all either, and she shuddered while trying to regain her balance.

They were very high up, the lights of the hundreds of tents from the military encampment outside of Skyhold only distant wisps, and she couldn't make a single soul out. Kinloch Hold had been tall, yes, but it had also had little to no windows, so she had never really felt the vertigo. What they had had been mostly high up in the ceiling, so there hadn't even been many chances to glance out of them. When she and Jowan had been younger, they'd invented a little game to go along with this predicament, in which they'd secretly float books for each other, as little steps, so that they were able to reach the window and hang from it's ledge, and tell each other what they saw outside. It was usually just the lake, but sometimes, boats would sail by, and the one who saw them would be the winner. Often it was Jowan, because most of the time he could barely make her the steps.

He had often talked about how they would one day sail off on one of those boats, see the world from the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux to the qunari lands of Par Vollen. Even then she'd known how foolish those dreams had been, but she supposed that he had eventually gotten to be on one of those boats, at the very least. Only the sea's breeze against his face and the rushing of the waves had meant nothing to him, and the place he was being sent to did not awake the hunger for adventure or even fear in his heart like it would've certainly done before. And those were all things she'd gotten to enjoy. Instead of him.

Alana had thought she'd be over it after all these years, but her heart still ached at the thought of Jowan, tranquil. She supposed no amount of years could ever heal this kind of hurt, or make the guilt disappear. No more fumbling teasing, no more jokes at each other's expense, no more staircases made out of books. Had he struggled, as they performed the Rite? Had he begged them to kill him instead, or had he taken his fate as it was, accepting it for his crimes against the arling of Redcliffe? Had he perhaps cursed her name to the last moment? There was no way of knowing, as she was too much of a coward to ask if he even remained among the living.

They approached a tower at the end of the battlements, and Alana could see a faint light coming from inside. Closer, they could hear muffled talking. Not enough to make out anything specific, but just enough to know that the people inside were engaged in conversation and should not be disturbed anytime soon.

“We should probably wait until they're done.” suggested Varric, and leaned against a barrel. Alana shuffled her feet, and was almost tempted to pull out her book, but it was too dark to be even pretending to read. Should she make for idle chatter? Maybe she could ask about Hawke? Truthfully, it mystified her why he would even want to see her.

“So, Doe, have you had time to settle in at all?” Varric asked before she could think of anything else to say. It sure was handy to be stuck in an awkward silence with someone as talkative as him, as it would never last for long. He’d talked all the way back to Skyhold, after all, so this should be easy.

“Yes, I have. I was able to claim myself a study of my own.” she answered, and Varric just nodded, adding in a half mumbled “I see” for a conversational effect. Somehow, the conversation died with that, and Alana felt betrayed. She'd just branded him talkative, he could not do this to her! Well, all the same, now she could raise a new complaint she’d just acquired had into the forefront. It would serve him right, for letting her be the one responsible for keeping up the conversation.

“I would like for you to call me Amell. That's what everyone else calls me, and I'd appreciate it if you did so as well.” she said, trying to appear as sincere as possible. Maybe Varric could be persuaded out of it, unlike Iron Bull. He seemed a lot less brash. Varric feigned outrage though, shaking his head to hide his newfound smirk.

“I can't just call you Amell. People will start thinking you're special, and no offense, you're a bit too tall for me.” he said, as if he was letting her down easy, and this time, despite herself, Alana sighed. She wouldn't go down without a fight, no matter how much Varric jested. She would get either him or Iron Bull to yield. Preferably both.

“But the nickname can't hold any significance to it. We barely know each other.” she tried to reason with him.

“Ah, but see, there's your real problem. We just need to get acquainted, and then you'll see the significance in it all.” He smirked at her, and Alana knew that she was fighting a losing battle. He'd probably twist her words until it seemed like she came up with the name Doe herself. Really, it wasn't as if she felt insulted. Far from it, in fact, she was quite flattered he'd taken up some time to come up with something that suited her. In his opinion, at least. It was just the principle of it all that made her protest being called anything but Amell. No one in the Circle had used any other name, except for Jowan calling her Alana and… Nevermind, she supposed. That was all in the past.

“I met the Seeker, Cassandra. She's quite upset with you.” Alana said, changing the topic, but this time striking up a conversation worked. Varric visibly grimaced, shaking his head.

“Don't I know it. Upset it probably an understatement, seeing as we're dealing with _her_ , here. Thanks for the heads up, in any case.” he said, grunting a little in expiration as he pushed himself away from the barrel. At that moment, she envied Varric's loyalty towards Hawke. She herself was far too self serving for acts like that. If it had been her being interrogated by Cassandra, she would've probably told her everything she'd wanted to know before she even got to threatening her. It was no wonder she didn’t have any friends.

Before either one of them could get another word in, the door swung open and the Inquisitor stepped outside, eyes gleaming peculiarly as light from the inside hit them, and he took in Varric and her presence. He was followed by a scruffy looking tall, dark human man. He looked tired and worn down for just a moment, but lit up as he spotted Varric, who nonchalantly waved at him, as if his face hadn't brightened considerably when he saw his friend as well.

Alana knew that before her stood Aiden Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall. When he looked over to where Alana was, his eyebrows shot up as he took her in, looking at Varric quizzically before remembering his manners and turning his attention towards her.

“Well, aren't I popular today? Reminds me of my heyday, really. To whom do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, suspicious at the least, but still very civil. Evidently, Varric had not told him that they'd be meeting. That meant that she not been brought here because Hawke wanted to see her, as she had previously suspected. What, was she supposed to be surprised too? That left her feeling annoyed, like she was being taken for a fool. Really, she should’ve declined the dwarf’s invitation before it got to this point.

“I'm glad – “ Varric started, his intent to probably introduce her in some sort of embarrassing manner, but Alana interrupted him. If she spoke, then maybe she'd be able to leave faster. This day was starting to tire her more than humanly possible.

“Let me introduce myself, Hawke. Alana Amell.” she said, emphasizing the Amell. Part of her hoped it would be enough to make him call her such. 

“Oh.” Hawke simply exclaimed, taking in her appearance, no doubt trying to decipher of which relation she was to him. Alana decided to be helpful, to not let the conversation drag on. Efficiency should’ve been the nickname Varric gave to her. 

“My mother was Revka Amell, who, I believe, is your mother's cousin.” she told him, and he nodded, deeming it plausible. “That would make us first cousins.” she added. He was clearly quite confused about why he was even being introduced to her, as was she, for the matter of fact. First cousins weren't even that closely related to one another. To be frank, she didn't even hold family in high regard. She did not really count having a dozen letters from her mother as having a family. Her father had not even granted her that courtesy, probably going so far as to forbid her mother from telling his name to her. All the same to her, really.

Hawke grinned at her and spoke, “So that's how it is. I was wondering if you were another one of Gamlen's illegitimate children, but you don't even have an ounce of him in you.”

Varric chuckled, seemingly agreeing with him. Alana dug her mind a bit for information on this Gamlen in the Tale of the Champion, but came to the conclusion that there wasn't that much about him to recall. He was Hawke's uncle, but he'd also gambled away the Amell fortune and Estate while the true heir, Leandra, was away. He smelled repugnant and was a vile person. After the first act, he'd all but disappeared from the story. There’d been no mention of his illegitimate children, but somehow she doubted it was book material in any case.

“So you're actually related?” the Inquisitor piped in. It startled Alana a bit, as she had thought he'd already left. “Elgar'nan, the world sure is small! It’s like everyone knows each other already!”

He laughed, seemingly delighted at the turn of events, more so than anyone else involved, including Varric who'd orchestrated this whole debacle, and Hawke, who this was set up for. Alana didn't know if this meant that they were all underwhelmed by _her_ or just that they were too tired to have any significant reaction, because that was what she absolutely was. Slowly but surely her eyelids were turning into lead, and if this continued on for any longer she’d have to curl up to sleep in the tower nearest to her.

”We should probably take this some - ” Hawke started, but Alana cut him off.

”Can we continue this discussion later?” she asked, bluntly. The Inquisitor’s face fell at that, but both Hawke and Varric just shared a look that seemed to be a full conversation, Hawke raising his eyebrows and Varric motioning with his hands in a manner that implied that this was unexpected for him too. It was done in a flash, though, and she had the attention of all men again, Hawke speaking up first.

”I’d love to, really,” Alana nearly raised her eyebrows at that, because he did not sound like someone who’d love to do anything right now, ”But we’re leaving, first thing tomorrow.” he said regretfully, tugging his thumb towards the Inquisitor and Varric.

”Official business.” the Inquisitor piped in. ”You just got here, so you’re going to stay, to familiarize yourself with everything.”

Alana nodded. It made sense, after all, and she wasn’t going to protest this arrangement. She was almost happy to not be on the road, until she remembered she had to deal with the people here instead, and a certain man rose to the forefront of her mind. But Cullen had been ignoring her on purpose before at the stairs and at the tavern, hadn’t he? That seemed to be the way things were going to be from now on. Alana would keep a polite distance unless it was absolutely required, and he’d do the same. At least they’d be able to be civil with each other. That was all she wanted from him.

”Well then,” Alana said, bowing her head respectfully, ”It was a pleasure to have met you all. Hopefully we’ll be seeing each other again.” 

She directed her last comment at Hawke, and that was that. She faced the three men in front of her, and ignored the way everyone seemed to be dissatisfied with the fact that this was how the night ended, but what was Alana to do, jump in joy and holler at the fact she was the relative of the Champion of Kirkwall? Ridiculous. It was just something people should get used to, her disappointing them. If a more opportune moment ever arose, she’d be interested in talking with Hawke, but now was not that moment. She had her limits too.

Thankfully, there were no further questions asked. They said their goodbyes, and went their separate ways, Alana to the mages’ barracks, everyone else to the castle. She found her way there quite easily, and resisted the urge to collapse into the bed immediately. If she did, she would surely just fall asleep with her clothes on, and that wouldn’t do. Instead she stripped herself of her belt, kicked off her boots and got undressed, leaving her shirt on as she didn’t have any night clothes yet, another foolish oversight she’d have to deal with as soon as possible, but it would definitely have to wait for later.

She finally, finally, after all these hours of dawdling got to lay on her bed, sliding herself under the covers and enjoying the feel of a soft mattress underneath her, cool as the bed may be, and closed her eyes. She tried to stop her mind from reeling, going over what had happened today, but it was impossible. Wishing she could sleep, she lay awake for a while, her thoughts keeping her up as she analyzed everything she’d done. Ultimately, she had a good feeling about what she had gotten herself into. Surely everyone she met thought she wasn’t pleasant, but this was a good cause. A good bed she’d made for herself. Whatever happened, she was going to be fine.

Alana did not remember when she fell asleep. During her first night in the Inquisition, she dreamt of a white house by the sea, the waves crashing into the rocky shore, someone waiting for her inside. When she woke up, the bed was warm and she felt homesick for the first time in years. It was really silly of her as, for the last decade, she hadn’t had a place to call her own, and truthfully, she wasn’t about to do so with this place either.


End file.
